Selling Souls
by Anniah
Summary: Hermione sells her soul to Draco to prove a point. But weird things start happening and she soon finds out that she shouldn't have been so hasty. She knows she has to get Draco to give her back her soul before things go too far, but Draco is enjoying his new found power over her. To what lengths will Hermione go to get back what is rightfully hers? HGxDM
1. Chapter I

**Full Story Summary: **_My attempt to tackle a stereotypical scenario__ used commonly in Harry Potter fanfiction: The old Headboy and Headgirl stuck sharing a tower story . . . Hermione sells her soul to Draco to prove a point: that it isn't actually possible to own another person's soul. But weird things start happening and she soon finds out that she shouldn't have been so hasty to sign that slip of paper. She knows she has to get Draco to give her back her soul before things go too far, but Draco has realised what is happening and is enjoying his new found power over Hermione. How long before things start to go horribly wrong? And to what lengths will Hermione go to get back what is truly hers?_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Harry Potter and associated characters._

**A.N. **_This story was previously known as __**Selling Souls Is A Bad Idea**__. It has also been re-edited since the name change._ _Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far._

* * *

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter I**

The stars shone brightly casting ghostly candlelight sparks across the black mirror of the Great Lake. The tips of the pine trees, which made up the Forbidden Forest, waved solemnly as if the breath of a thousand deceased souls sighed over them. The rising mountain peaks blacked out the starry sky and cast long shadows across the grounds of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. At the tip of one of the towers a high arched window glimmered with warm, comforting light. Inside a girl sat at her window seat and leant studiously over a thick book, a globe of butter-yellow light floating lazily by her shoulder. She ran long slender fingers through her thick curly hair, sighing in frustration at the sounds of rage echoing from the downstairs room.

Muttering to herself, the girl snapped her book shut and set it down on the window seat. She frowned as she scanned her bedroom, glancing at the ticking clock on the wall. Her room was plainly furnished with a simple wooden wardrobe and chest of drawers, a large four poster with twisting patterns carved into the mahogany posts and a neat trunk at the base of the bed. Inside the trunk parchment, quills and ink bottles could be seen stacked neatly. The walls and floors were made of the heavy stone commonly used to construct the great castle. A thick rug of deep red provided some warmth from the chilly flagstones and a stone fireplace held a merrily crackling fire, charmed to be heatless in the heavy summer air. Above the fireplace a canvas of the Gryffindor crest shone in the amber light, catching the gold leaf. The room, too, was decorated in the colours of the founder of Gryffindor House, rich scarlet bed covers highlighted with stitched swirling patterns in golden thread and a shimmering gossamer gauze curtain of gold that floated like a halo around the bed.

The clock read eleven-thirty. Hermione uttered a small moan before storming from her room and down the winding staircase that lead to her shared common room. The sound of curses and furniture being battered increased in volume as she approached. Downstairs, in the room that was meant for _relaxing_, a chair lay upturned, its pillows thrown and scattered across the thick carpet of dark blue, obviously pummelled. The table, still covered in study books and scraps of parchment, had been shoved roughly to the edge of the room so that a quill had rolled onto the floor. In the table's original place a glowering Draco Malfoy scowled while pacing back and forth, absently kicking a pillow heavily across the floor. His clothes and demeanour were surprisingly dishevelled, not at all like the spoiled Slytherin Prince.

Hermione scooped up the tattered pillow before it could receive another beating and set it on the nearest sofa, smoothing down its soft green cover. Malfoy glared at her explosively, a sneer curling his thin lips.

"What?" he spat venomously, throwing himself upon the cream sofa and staring up at her with stormy grey eyes.

"Could you not take your little tantrum upstairs? I need the Common room to study," Hermione hissed, trying to keep her temper down.

Hermione had arrived for a new school year at Hogwarts in high spirits knowing that for once she could complete a year without fearing that other, more dangerous things would interrupt it. Her mood was enhanced by the added bonus of becoming Headgirl, a title she had been working towards for her previous six years. But her first week back had been turned sour by the news that her new tower, exclusively for Headboy and girl would be shared with the boy that had made her school life since starting Hogwarts a living hell, Draco Malfoy. Although they had respectfully ignored each other most of the time, Malfoy only giving a sly comment every now and then, she had then gone on to discover he had at sometime developed a bad temper problem, often snapping at the simplest of things. Hermione believed the poor pillows of their shared Common room would never be the same again. This made studying for their NEWTS exams, an importance no teacher would let Hermione forget at the moment, considerably harder.

Hermione was using her first Sunday night back in the eventful Castle to study but, although she had requested one, she did not have a study table in her bedroom and she desperately needed the one in the Common room to write notes. The clever witch wished to finish making annotations on the latest tome she was studying in History of Magic, a lesson she had first thing the next morning, but had been chased from her study table by a raving Malfoy. Now she was drawing close to her tether. There was no way she was going to let the emotionally unstable boy ruin her chance at a good grade.

And now he was staring at her with that aggravated look, as if _she_ personally had done him some great wrong.

"It's _my_ Common room as well, _Mudblood_. I have every right to be here too," he snarled, stretching out on the sofa. Hermione's blood boiled at the insult.

"What's the matter? Has your Mummy forgotten to pack you your diamond encrusted quill? Oh poor you! It's the end of the world," Hermione cooed in a simpering voice. Malfoy sat forwards, his eyes flashing with anger.

"For your information I have just been informed that my father has been granted a shortened sentence. So you'll excuse me if I'm not in the best of moods . . . But then again, this could come in handy. I'm sure my father would want revenge on the boy and his _filthy_ companions, who helped get him sent down in the first place. Perhaps I could point him in the right direction," Malfoy threatened. Hermione gave an involuntary shudder of fear at the thought of his father on the loose. Even the man's own son despised his cruel and torturous ways. God knows why he was granted a shorter sentence; he should have been locked up in Azkaban for the rest of his life. But there was no doubting he was very rich and Hermione was beginning to discover that money could get you pretty much anywhere. That and power over others. Despite this, Hermione was not about to show pity for the enemy.

"Running back to daddy to do all the dirty work? How typical of you, Malfoy," Hermione jibed. Malfoy jumped up.

"God I'd sell my soul to see you locked in a box full of blast-ended skrewts. Ones that Hagrid has forgotten to feed for two weeks," Malfoy shouted, then paused to grin evilly at the notion.

"Shame it's impossible. I'd have fun feeding _your _soul to load of Hippogriffs bit by bit." Malfoy looked at her, his head cocked to one side.

"Who says it's impossible to sell your soul?" he goaded her.

"I didn't think you were that thick, Malfoy. It's _not _physically possible. The soul is just a metaphor to symbolise a person's identity."

"Ooh, get you, Miss-know-it-all. Prove it then," the Slytherin drawled.

"Prove it? How the hell am I supposed to do that? It's not _actually_ possible." Hermione knew Malfoy was just trying to draw her into some sort of argument to relieve his anger but she couldn't help but retaliate. And now he was grinning at her in a disconcerting way.

"If you think that selling your soul won't affect you then _do_ it. Sell me your soul," he asked. Hermione took a step back.

"Sell you my soul?"

"What are you afraid of? If you're right you wouldn't actually be giving me your soul, you'd just be selling me a metaphor," the blonde boy smirked. Hermione scowled at him. She didn't understand why Malfoy would want to own her soul and the thought of it in his possession made her shudder. But what was she thinking? Souls didn't exist in a physical sense, therefore she would not actually be selling hers. And she wanted desperately to prove her point.

"It wouldn't work," she said simply in reply. Malfoy just smiled and reached over into the pile of schoolwork he had left stacked on the desk, pulling out a scrap of parchment, a quill and ink bottle. Hermione watched warily as he hastily scrawled on it, then picked it up once he'd sent the paper fluttering over to her. She read the neat flowing writing.

_I, Hermione Granger, do hereby pass full ownership of my soul to Draco Malfoy to do with as he pleases for the right to use the Common room in peace when I wish and for the total sum of ten galleons._

"I'm willing to leave the Common room to you _and_ I'm throwing in ten galleons. How could you resist?" Draco told her, presenting the quill.

"'To do with as he pleases'? What are you going to do? Rape my soul?" Hermione asked, peering at the blond boy quizzically. "Why do you want it so much anyway? I'm sure that a _muggleborn's _soul can't be worth _that_ much to you." Malfoy's face darkened and he sighed exasperatedly.

"Look, we're both trying to prove a point, right? I'm willing to give you money in return. If we look at it your way, you're getting something for nothing. So just sign already." Hermione hesitated. Instinctive alarm bells were ringing in her head, but she couldn't stand to let Malfoy think she was afraid to prove a point. Hermione slowly took up his expensive quill, signing underneath his neat writing with a flourish. Malfoy smirked at her gloatingly as she shoved the crumpled piece of paper into his outstretched hand.

Automatically she checked herself to see if she felt any different. But of course she didn't! This was stupid. Malfoy didn't really own her soul, just a scrap of parchment with ink scrawled across it, that's all. Hermione swallowed her fears.

"Satisfied now?" she asked with hands on hips. "Now you can imagine in your screwed up little head that you own my soul and I can be happy knowing I was right all along." Malfoy just looked at her smugly. _He's just trying to wind me up, get me paranoid_, the Gryffindor told herself.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it safe," Malfoy almost laughed, patting the breast pocket of his robes into which he had just slipped the ragged piece of paper. "Think what I could do with such a _pure_ soul!" The thought suddenly struck Hermione that Malfoy might be able to use some sort of black magic on her by having that scrap of parchment with her signature. It would explain why he was so eager for her to sign it. But as soon as it came to mind she dismissed the idea. No, even Malfoy wouldn't risk his precious place at Hogwarts. She turned away.

"I'm going now so you can have your little tantrum alone. Just make sure you've packed up by the time I get back." She heard Malfoy snicker at her half-hearted attempt at an insult as she began walking to the door. _He's just trying to psych me out_, Hermione tried to believe.

"Wait!" His voice reverberated around her body like a bell, triggering muscles and nerves. Try as she might, Hermione found that her feet would no longer move at her command. She had suddenly ceased her path to the door and stood with her back to Malfoy.

"Hold on a second, a deal's a deal, I'll get ten galleons," she heard him say from behind her. She listened to his footsteps clatter up the stairs in speechless anger. She couldn't move! Hermione Granger had let herself be immobilised by her enemy. Why oh why had she let her guard down? He'd obviously cast a spell on her, was trying to freak her out. Hermione tried to move her foot but it wouldn't budge. She was just about to call out to Malfoy when she heard the patter of feet as he returned. He stopped when he saw she hadn't moved and still had her back to him.

"Turn around then." Hermione felt her legs swing round awkwardly. "You'll probably give this to the Weasel. Now _there's_ a person who'd sell his soul for just a galleon," he sneered as the golden coins clinked into her palm. He stepped back, looking at her vacant bemused expression, an expectant look on his face as if he imagined Hermione would fall at his feet in thanks. Perhaps she was just shocked that he would give her anything at all. She _still _hadn't moved.

"Err, you can go now," he offered. Hermione felt the muscles in her body relax and had to stop herself from slumping to the floor.

"What – what spell did you use?" she stammered, staring at Malfoy in shock. He looked at her in confusion. "The spell. You just _hexed_ me!"

"What _are _you harping on about Granger? I gave you the money already, now why don't you go away," he spat. Hermione felt herself twist around and head for the door, her body only listening to the command of the moody boy behind her.

"See, you're doing it now!" she shouted behind her, as she automatically clambered through the portrait door. She heard a cruel bark of laughter before the door swung shut and she was consumed by anger. Shouts and curses of rage echoed down the stone corridor, as the Headgirl, seemingly struggling with herself, marched down the hallway, waking the unfortunate occupants of a few portraits.

At the end of the corridor her limbs became her own again and she found she could walk freely. Hermione had half a mind to march back to her tower and ask Malfoy what exactly he was playing at. But her whole encounter with the Headboy had exhausted her, so instead she decided to return to the safety of her old House tower and the haven of the company of her friends

Hermione stormed into the Gryffindor common room, casting about for her friends. Most of the lower years had already retired but there were still an ample amount of students sitting about, either studying or playing games such as exploding snaps. Fortunately Harry and Ron were still up, sitting in their usual place by the fire, playing a demanding game of wizard chess. Hermione stormed across the room and slumped down in the chair next to them.

"What's the matter, Hermione? Is Malfoy finally getting to you?" Harry asked as Ron's queen viciously pulped his knight.

"You know what that _little_ – _little_ . . . Urrgh," Hermione cried in exasperation, not being able to find any words suitable enough for a Headgirl to use to describe her enemy. Harry and Ron looked at each other knowingly.

"What happened?" Harry asked with mock enthusiasm. Hermione hesitated. Somehow she thought it would sound stupid admitting she'd 'sold her soul' for the sake of an argument. She knew that her friends wouldn't understand why she did it. They might even consider her _foolish_ for doing so.

"I got into an argument with him and he spelled me. He was just trying to freak me out but it was weird. A bit like the imperious curse except my mind wasn't fuzzy. I could think perfectly clearly." She had their full attention now.

"You don't think Malfoy would use dark magic?" Ron asked, not needing to feign worry this time.

"No," Hermione said. "He wouldn't risk his position at the school. He was lucky to get back in to Hogwarts after his father got caught. It was just . . . _strange_, that's all."

* * *

Draco stretched out on the sofa, looking up at the note in his hand, deep in thought. He didn't know what had compelled him to persuade Granger to sign the slip of paper. It gave him a good chance to get one up on her; he could certainly get her paranoid. Play a few tricks, cast a few spells and she'd be begging him to give it back to her. It's not like he actually _believed_ in all that superstitious rubbish about souls. He'd just wanted to wind up the stuck-up bitch. Besides, it'd get a few laughs from the lads. He could just imagine their faces when he told them he had managed to get Hermione Granger, Headgirl of all people, to sign her soul over to him, like some hopelessly in love girl in one of those awful love stories.

But it didn't look like he'd have to play any tricks. Her imagination was already getting the better of her, it seemed. What was she talking about when she kept going on about a spell? What spell? _He_ certainly hadn't cast one. And the shocked, almost fearful look she had given him? It was definitely strange. And now she was probably spilling the whole event to her two little companions. He suddenly felt the urge to hit something – hard. He didn't know why he hated the idea of the girl telling those two dimwits all that transpired between themselves, as if it was something _private._

Draco continued to stare at the looping signature. Was it him, or was the ink catching the light from the fire in a peculiar way? Draco decided he must be tired. All the effort in aggravating Granger had left him spent. He made his way up to his bedroom, similarly furnished to Granger's but with different house colours, Slytherin's green and silver in the place of Gryffindor's red and gold. He set the signature on his bedside table and went into his bathroom to wash and change.

On his desk the slip of parchment fluttered in a non-existent breeze, the writing seeming to dance and swirl on the page. And while Draco was busy in the bathroom, the ink from the signature began to glow a bright amber colour and the whisper of a song drifted across the room, sweet and melodious, almost like it came from the soul of a pure, innocent girl. When Draco returned, the paper lay, unassuming, upon the wooden surface of the table.


	2. Chapter II

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter II**

Hermione sat up suddenly, pushing the red and gold covers from her feverish body. She looked about wildly into the darkness, scrabbling for the wand that should have been under her pillow. She eventually found it on her bedside table, next to a thick stack of books. Casting a _lumos _expertly, her pale face scanned the newly brightened room, eyes darting nervously.

She had been sure that there had been someone in the room. A vague feeling of someone breathing and a slow heartbeat pulsing. Hermione shook her head and cast back to the memory of her nightmare.

She had been trapped in a pulsing box, so small she was forced to crouch and could brush both walls when she stretched out her hands. The box gave out a faint red light that pulsed as the walls did. At first Hermione had panicked, banging on the walls and calling out, but then a close presence seemed to soothe her. She could only vaguely see it, like a golden shimmering outline of a human, standing beside her and singing a sweet song that drifted and rose in honeyed tones. The song calmed Hermione's nerves and she sat down to think of a way out.

Suddenly the singing ceased and the glimmering figure began to fade into the walls. Hermione tried to call out to it, wanting the soothing song to return but instead the whole box began to shake as if it were being rattled like an unopened Christmas present. The golden outline of a person eventually completely faded and Hermione felt its disappearance like a stab in the side, leaving her completely alone in the shaking box.

The ceiling was peeled off and peering inside, observing Hermione as if she was an ant under a microscope, was a giant pale face. Hermione looked up from her prison at the sneering features of Draco Malfoy . . .

Hermione shuddered at the memory of her nightmare and swung her legs around so her toes were resting on her bedroom floor. She looked at the time from a clock by her bedside table telling her it was six a.m. _Might as well get up now, _Hermione thought, rubbing her eyes wearily.

The descent to the Great Hall was a slow one. After getting ready herself, Hermione stopped by the Gryffindor tower to hustle Harry and Ron out, knowing that if she didn't they'd still be there when lessons started. Hermione wasn't yet sure how they had managed to survive so far without her always there. Although strange tales had drifted towards her from other housemates, telling of the weird events happening up at the Gryffindor tower now Harry and Ron no longer had Hermione breathing down their necks. It would be safe to say that they had definitely gone AWOL on their responsibilities.

Ron and Harry were _not _happy to be ushered out of bed at six thirty in the morning and Hermione's day started with a lot of grumbles and threats of a few curses, muttered when they thought she couldn't hear. Finally down in the great Hall, Hermione watched with a slightly nauseous feeling as Ron shovelled scrambled eggs into his gaping maw. Twirling her spoon lazily around her bowl of muesli, she scanned the room for any sign of interest. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a commotion on the opposite side of the room, funnily enough at the Slytherin table.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she watched Malfoy standing around a gaggle of groupies, waving a tattered piece of paper smugly. Hermione was staring daggers into the back of the Slytherin's neck when he turned and caught her eye, grinning mischievously. Almost the entire Slytherin table burst into laughter and Hermione felt her cheeks burn red.

"What was that about?" Harry asked seriously, his fork half raised to his mouth.

"How should I know?" Hermione snapped. Then she turned to watch in fury as Malfoy strutted from the Hall.

"I forgot my books, I'll see you later," she muttered to her friends before quickly striding from the room. She caught up with Malfoy fast enough, embarrassment and anger lending speed to her movements. As she neared, she gave a muffled shout in his direction. He turned, a stupid sneer plastered on his face.

"Stalking me now, are you, Granger?"

"Shut up. How dare you! You- you . . . snivelling little toad! I'd thought you might have actually grown up over the summer but you haven't changed a bit." Malfoy's grin faded to a glower.

"Alright, alright, Granger. It was just a joke."

"You think it's _amusing_ to make fun of people. I was going along with your little game last night but if you think-"

"Shut up, you whingeing psycho bitch, I'm sick to death of listening to you." Hermione's mouth clamped shut, much to Malfoy's surprise and, despite a look of extreme hate, she said nothing else. The Headboy smirked.

"Did I manage to hit a nerve there, Granger?" She remained silent, clenching her fists, her face colouring a deep red. Malfoy's smirk faltered and he shifted on his feet. "Oh, come on. You're not going to cry now, are you? Speak up."

"Where's your wand?" Hermione snapped, as soon as he had spoken the command 'speak up'. Malfoy was taken aback by the force in her voice.

"U-up stairs. What's it to you anyway?" he asked, regaining some confidence.

"You can't perform wandless magic. What are you playing at, Malfoy? How're you casting spells?"

"I think you need to pay a visit to Pomfrey, Granger. You're not talking right."

"Give me the paper back," Hermione said, lunging for Malfoy's breast pocket. The boy stepped back, fishing the slip of parchment out of his pocket and holding it high over his head.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he said, waving the note teasingly. "Didn't anyone teach you it was rude to snatch?" Hermione jumped to catch it but Malfoy's tall height meant she was at a disadvantage.

"Give it to me, Malfoy."

"I thought you didn't believe in being able to own a soul."

"I don't. I just don't want you using it as an excuse to freak me out."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything. I haven't even got my wand. You could search me, Granger. I know you're gasping for the chance."

"Oh, shut up. You're so pig headed." He chuckled and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Hermione called. "You wouldn't compromise your position at Hogwarts by using dark magic, would you? Because I wouldn't hesitate to tell McGonagall and she would believe anything I say over you." She saw Malfoy's face darken and a panic enter his eyes at the threat.

"I haven't done anything." For once she heard sincerity in his voice. "Now leave me alone." She walked off, not of her own accord but because he had demanded her to. As she walked to her History of Magic class she wondered what was controlling her so. _It's just your own mind, it's assuming that Malfoy is playing a trick on you and reacts accordingly, _she told herself. It was just her own mind she continually repeated, settling herself down in the empty classroom and neatly setting out her quill and ink bottle.

"You are early, Miss Granger," Professor Binns muttered, materialising through the black board. Hermione jumped, amazed that Binns remembered her name when he usually never even seemed to notice the class sitting in front of him.

"I guess I'm eager to get on," Hermione said, although she felt very differently. A boiling, angry feeling had been roiling in her stomach since she had parted with Malfoy and had refused to go away no matter how hard she tried to calm down. In fact the feeling seemed to grow, consuming her mind in rage. A few other students were arriving and unenthusiastically dumping themselves in the nearest seats. Hermione twitched irritably, fiddling with her quill and waiting for Binns' monologue to distract her. She had the peculiar urge to take her anger out on something . . . or _someone._

"Ow!" All students looked at her.

"Miss Granger?"

"Sorry, ah, um, can I be excused please?" Hermione clutched her right hand, as Binns waved her away and began to drone on. A few students glanced at her quizzically but didn't seem too interested. In the quiet of the corridor Hermione examined her hand. It looked unblemished, yet for no apparent reason it had suddenly started stinging as if she had cracked her knuckles against a rough surface. Cursing and gritting her teeth, she headed straight for the Hospital Wing.

The room was light and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Madam Pomfrey was not there, yet, as she scanned the white pristine beds, she saw a familiar face.

"For Merlin's sake, I can't get away from you, Granger." Hermione kept her distance, glancing at him warily and hoping that Pomfrey would turn up quickly. Malfoy sat in a chair, legs spread out cockily, but cradled one hand in the other, a few spots of blood, seeping between his fingers.

"What did you do?" she muttered.

"After our little meeting, my fist unfortunately met with a brick wall. It's a common accident, I'm afraid."

"You are such an idiot. Who punches a wall after an argument? Let's see." Malfoy looked at her strangely but obediently held out his hand. Hermione stared at the split knuckles and purple bruising already making an appearance.

"This is your . . . right hand."

"Wow, your observation skills are astounding," Malfoy replied sarcastically.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione muttered, drawing back. Her hand ached as well . . . almost as if . . . she had smashed it against a wall.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing!" she blurted far too quickly. "I – I mean, I've got a – a headache. Came on quite suddenly. Just remembered I've got a vial of painkiller potion in my room." She was out of the door and heading towards her tower before Malfoy could blink. Her hand still throbbed but it was no longer what was worrying her. In her personal common room she sat down and buried her head in her hands. _This can't be happening!_

* * *

Hermione avoided talking to him for a whole week. In the mornings she made sure she was up and eating breakfast before Malfoy even started to think of emerging from his bedroom and in the evenings she came back as late as possible, instead choosing to study in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione wished she could forget the slip of paper she had so unwittingly signed but every now and then, when she was close to Malfoy, she could feel his anger. It was like a thrashing snake in her stomach, its venom bubbling inside of her. It kept her awake at night, hissing at thoughts and memories not her own. She wondered how he stored so much anger inside of himself without bursting in rage at every mishap.

Hermione still did not understand what ancient spell she and Malfoy had unearthed in the process of signing that contract ,but she knew that the world of magic held many mysterious secrets that could easily bite you when you were unsuspecting. She began to spend every spare minute she could afford in the library trying to find a solution to her predicament, but to no avail. She knew that somehow she had handed control of her body to Malfoy. With one command he could make her do anything. This had to be avoided at all costs. She also knew she could feel his emotions when they were particularly strong.

But what was there she _didn't_ know? What more could Malfoy do to her? There could be all manner of side effects to the spell. This realisation gnawed at her stomach day and night until she began to feel sick. Finally she came to a decision . . .

* * *

Draco Malfoy dreamt; he dreamt of darkness and pain and screaming; he dreamt of stone rooms and sobbing and screeching laughter; he dreamt of his mother; he dreamt of anger and he dreamt of a girl. Then something woke him . . .

She stared at him with wide eyes, her arm still outstretched. Like a startled rabbit she tried to dart away but he grabbed her wrist, bare skin meeting. Like a vacuum his mind was empty. It was complete bliss. He couldn't feel any emotion but a deep calm, a blankness that held so much relief after all the anger and pain. He looked at her, noticing the surprised expression on her face, the way her almond eyes darted as if looking at something he couldn't see. He could feel the goose bumps on her soft flesh as she shivered. Her hair was a chestnut frame to her heart-shaped face. Without the anger he could see _so _clearly.

She snatched her arm back and took a deep breath. As soon as skin contact was broken, the rage flooded back.

"What was that?" he asked, gritting his teeth and wondering what the hell she was doing in his room. Moonlight cast mercury beams across her face, igniting sparks in the black pools of her eyes.

"I-I don't know. I think . . . I think I just saw inside your head." Her hand went up to her forehead and she winced.

"What did you see?" he snarled, sitting up suddenly. She shook her head.

"Nothing! I . . . just flashes of . . . rooms and people and . . ." She looked as if she wanted to reach out to him. "So much anger and hate. How can you _stand_ it?" He stood, the bed covers rustling, pooling to his feet.

"What are you doing in here?" _She is so pathetic_, he thought; shaking like a trapped mouse as he stared her down. Something seemed to return to her then, her back straightened and her decisiveness returned.

"I want it back. I'll give you your ten galleons, just give it back." Her eyes darted to the slip of paper peeking from beneath his pillow. He suddenly realised she had been reaching out to snatch it when he woke.

"Dirty, little Mudblood thief. It's mine and you're not getting it back."

"You sound like a snivelling toddler, Malfoy. Grow up." He narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you want it so much? Are you feeling a little _soulless_, Granger?" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and for a second he thought she was doing the muggle tradition of praying.

"You were right." He gave a laugh.

"What is this, Granger? A desperate attempt to seduce me?" She rolled her eyes.

"I mean, I believe that you can sell a soul. And I want mine back." Draco sat on the edge of his bed, smoothing down the silk emerald covers and staring at her.

"What's brought this on? You look jittery. Am I getting to you?" He smirked that annoying smirk that he knew she hated.

"Haven't you noticed? Ever since I signed that piece of parchment weird things have been happening."

"It's just your paranoid little brain."

"No, I mean it. When . . . uh – when you tell me to do something, I – I do it . . ." Silence reigned. A tap in Draco's en suit dripped. Then he laughed and she glowered at him.

"It's true. Look, tell me to do something." He stared at her incredulously. "Do it!" she ordered.

"Ha, this ought'a be fun. Err . . . jump up and down." She did, whilst scowling. He laughed. "You're doing it by yourself, Granger. There's nothing forcing you to."

"There is. I have no reason to want to jump up and down in front of you, Malfoy. It's not me doing it. Ask me something else." He made her bark and run in circles and repeat the alphabet. A whole list of pointless exercises yet he remained unconvinced.

"Why are we doing this, Granger? You look ridiculous!"

"To prove a point."

"All it's _proving_ is that you are willing to look like an idiot to make me believe in some kinky fantasy you've dreamed up." He paused and grinned at her. "Unless I ask you to do something you would never, ever do."

"What?"

"Hmmm, let's see . . . Why don't you take off your top, take it off." Her eyes widened.

"What? Oh come on. Don't be a dick, Malfoy." But she was already unbuttoning her shirt.

"Tell me to stop," she pleaded.

"I'm enjoying this." The top fell to the floor. She tried to cover herself, hating Draco more than anything at that point, her face reddening. Knowing it would embarrass her even more, he put on a perverted leer. "Hmm, _very_ enjoyable. Now take off your bra."

"You utter-" she began to yell as her hands fumbled with the clasp to her bra, but then she smiled and ran. "Unlucky this time, Malfoy," she cried from outside his room. "You never told me to stay in one place." In curiosity, Draco followed but saw her disappear into her own room and heard her cast a muffling charm so she would be unable hear his voice. He would have to be very clear in his instructions, or Granger would simply find a way around them, he realised.

Sitting back on his bed, he pondered what had just happened. Granger was such a prude; would she actually willingly expose herself like that? Thinking back on it, perhaps he had been a _little _low key. She would be angry with him . . . but what would he care? Could he really control her? She _had_ been acting strange. And then when he had touched her he had felt so peaceful. There had to be magic involved in that.

Draco didn't want to fall asleep for fear of what he would dream but tiredness tugged at his eyes until they closed.

* * *

Hermione peered out of her bedroom door and down into the part of the common room that could be seen from the landing. She listened in suspension, holding her breath. No sound drifted up to her so she descended the staircase, clutching her school books in her arms. Hurrying towards the exit, she managed to get half way across the room before she noticed Malfoy sitting in the armchair in the far corner of the common room.

"Stop!" he commanded.

"Damn it!" she cursed, turning to face him. Her hand shot to her wand.

"I've been thinking, Granger. And I'm willing to believe your story but the problem is that this gives me no incentive to give you back your soul."

"I put my trust in you, Malfoy. I didn't have to tell you and instead you made a fool of me."

"Oh don't be so sentimental, Granger. I could do a lot worse," he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You have a very nice-"

"Oh here we go with the slurs," she interrupted.

"I was _going_ to say you have a very nice torso."

"Like hell you were. Now if you don't mind I would like to have some breakfast."

"You can go when I say you can go."

"You haven't told me I can't," she said, running out of the door. The portrait slammed behind her. He sat there thinking to himself. If he wanted to control her he would have to phrase his words very carefully. He knew she was smart enough to find a loophole in his orders. Smiling to himself he began to think of all the ways he could cause the utmost embarrassment to Hermione. _This was going to be fun . . ._


	3. Chapter III

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter III**

She could tell he had entered the room without having to look around. For once it was not anger she felt from him but a sly sense of amusement, the feeling of anticipation. She swallowed her panic, forcing herself to stay staring at the blackboard in front of her rather than turn to look at the smirk she knew was plastered to his lips. God damn that inane grin of his!

Harry and Ron sat to the right of her, bickering about the latest quidditch match results.

"The Cannons _nearly _won. It was just the slip up at the end that lost it for them," Ron whined.

"You're jokin' right? The Falcons annihilated them," Harry laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes. It seemed that every day her friends' chatter became more and more mundane. She was carefully balancing her cauldron upon a tripod when Professor Slughorn ambled in, rubbing his hands together in readiness, his plump features the picture of joviality.

"Good morning, class," he grinned, patting his few favourites on the back as he approached the front of the room. "Now we are nearing winter, I thought a good recipe to practice today would be the Winter Warmer, a potion which warms the drinker for a number of hours. I'm afraid it _is_ rather tricky to concoct and needs two sets of hands so I'd like you all to split into pairs please." With that Slughorn gave a wave and turned his back to write the instructions on the board, waiting for the ensuing chaos to settle down. Instantly the whole class burst into a hub of chatter as pupils argued over who was paired with whom. Hermione turned to Harry and Ron.

"It's my turn to go with Hermione," Ron said immediately, grinning at her, a look of victory on his face. Hermione knew that he was just trying to blag a good grade, using her hard work to achieve it, and was used to this, but for some reason the idea annoyed her today. She opened her mouth to speak but instead a voice behind her interrupted.

"You're going with me, Granger. Aren't you?" She sighed as the she registered the person behind the voice, noticing the furious faces of Harry and Ron.

"I guess I have no choice. Good luck guys," she said to her friends before they could start asking a multitude of questions in an outraged manner. Feeling only the slightest sentiment at having abandoned her friends to their inevitable mess, she grabbed her stuff and made her way to the back bench. The blonde boy followed her . . . _like a bad smell_, Hermione reflected.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" she asked, dumping her stuff down and flicking to the right page of the text book. Slughorn's voice droned from the front but for once she ignored it. Malfoy's angled, aristocratic features were marred with a frown. Being close to him she could pick up on the faint hint of irritation. Sometimes she wondered if she was feeling her own emotions or his.

"If you hadn't noticed, Granger. I'm not the most popular member of the class. People aren't jumping at the chance to be my potions partner. And for once I don't feel like being lumbered with an incompetent idiot." Hermione almost felt a pang of pity for Malfoy. It was true that since the War there had been a lack of Slytherins, none at all attending 7th year potion classes. Neither were members of the other houses too keen to be seen with the Slytherin Prince. After all, his father _had_ played host to Voldemort.

"Besides, I won't have to do a thing now," Malfoy continued, giving her a smug look that said "get to work!" and leaning back on the bench.

"What a surprise," she muttered, fetching the relevant ingredients and glaring at Malfoy as he doodled on a scrap of parchment. "You heard Slughorn. It takes _two_ sets of hands to make this potion," she said, setting out a chopping board and gripping the knife tightly, wondering what area of Malfoy's body would be best to stab; _perhaps the stomach . . ._

"I thought you would be a little more cooperative, Granger. That is if you want me to give you back your soul." _Maybe the heart, just to get it done with quickly . . ._

"Could you please just stir while I cut this root?" She pleaded.

"Nope." _No, definitely the eye . . . painful _and_ he would be blinded – bonus!_

"You are _unbearable_," she moaned through gritted teeth, slicing the root into thin strips whilst simultaneously stirring five times clockwise then two and half times anticlockwise repeatedly. She could feel his breath on her neck as he watched over her shoulder; it caused goosebumps to break out over her skin and a shiver to go down her spine.

"Do you mind?"

"Just making sure you're doing it perfectly. Because if you don't . . . well, there could be consequences."

"I'm sick of your threats, Malfoy," Hermione said, tapping the stirring rod against the side of the cauldron in irritation. He laughed and put on that infuriating smirk of his.

"You know what?" she said, waving the stirring rod in front of his nose. "You are the lowest, most pathetic form of life I have ever had the misfortune to come across. If you think that I'm going to pander to your every need, you've got another thing coming. You can take this rod and shove it up your-"

"Now, now, Granger. Your language is highly out of character and there is no need for personal insults. What kind of person would I be to let you get away with that? Of course I could bring myself to forgive you if I were to have an apology." He stared at Hermione like a snake at a mouse, daring her to disobey him with the look in his steely eyes. She refused to break his glare, her hands gripping the edge of the table in anger. Seconds ticked by and still she gave no sign of apologising.

"Very well," he finally hissed. "You listen to me carefully. You're going to go and stand on Slughorn's desk and very loudly repeat what I am about to say." Draco leaned in close and whispered something in Hermione's ear, a malicious grin stretching across his face. She paled, staring at him in horror.

"You're joking, Malfoy. That's – that's not fair!" But it was too late; she was already walking to the front of the class, struggling to gain control of her limbs. Slughorn turned towards her as she approached but his kindly smile quickly dropped as she clambered clumsily onto his desk. The noise in the classroom suddenly dimmed to excited whispers as her classmates realised that she, Hermione Granger, Headgirl, was standing upon a Professor's desk! They looked up in awe at her audacity, waiting for her next move.

"_At night, I touch myself to images of Professor McGonagall. Her wrinkles turn me on_." For a second there was silence as everyone processed Hermione's words. Then the whole classroom burst into shrieks of laughter and bawdy comments, as Slughorn raised a hand to his mouth.

"Miss Granger!" he pronounced, too stunned to reprimand her. Hermione's face went red as she hopped down from the desk.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she muttered, unable to look him in the eye. She could feel Malfoy's mirth and the smug sense of victory as strong as his laugh was loud. She forced herself to look at her torturer, desperately biting back the tears upon seeing his angular face pulled back into a sneer. Hermione walked right up to him and slapped him across the cheek, ignoring the feel of his pain imprinting itself across her own skin. He held his hand to his red face.

"I hate you!" she cried, storming from the room, jeers echoing behind her.

* * *

She refused to cry. Never would she let such a treacherous toad get to her; though it proved a battle when he came in through the portrait door. Her eyes welled and she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. She stared at the book on her lap, rereading the same sentence that she had read for the thousandth time that hour as she sat, simply hating _his _guts. Earlier Harry and Ron had knocked, calling to her through the portrait but she had bitten her tongue and listened to them leave. Now Malfoystood in front of her. Could she never escape?

"Awww, don't feel bad, Granger. A little humiliation is always healthy. Perhaps now you'll watch your tongue."

"You can't keep doing this to me! I won't let you. I can tell McGonagall." He simply grinned at her, dumping his bag and lounging upon the opposite sofa.

"You want to tell her that you willingly gave me your soul to prove a point. It doesn't sound too good, does it?" She scowled at him. She was too proud to tell McGonagall and he knew that. "Speaking of McGonagall; she wants to see you in her office," he mentioned nonchalantly, knowing the trouble she was in and revelling in it. She glared at him and stalked out of the room, purposely holding her chin high.

The walk to McGonagall's office was a long one and she spent the time wondering what over exaggerated rumours had reached the ears of her Headmistress since she had walked out of her lesson that morning, ignoring the few whispers she attracted as she passed pupils. The Headmistress' office was not up the spiralling staircase, as Dumbledore's had been. That office had not been touched since the death of Albus Dumbledore, remaining instead as a shrine to the great man. The Headmistress' office was a modest, plainly furnished room, suiting the Head's character perfectly. Now McGonagall's door loomed in front of Hermione. She took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders and knocked.

"Come in," the dry voice of Minerva McGonagall called through the heavy wood.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Hermione said, timidly poking her head around the door.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Please, take a seat." Hermione entered the room and sat, perching on her seat in nervousness and fiddling with the frayed cushion.

"You wanted to have a word with me, Professor?"

"I've been receiving reports of highly unorthodox behaviour coming from _you_, Miss Granger. I asked you to come to my office to remind you that you _are_ Headgirl now," McGonagall said, placing aside the papers she had been reading and looking at Hermione with a stern intensity.

"Unorthodox behaviour?"

"Well you have walked out of two lessons since the beginning of term, physically and verbally attacked a student in class, not to mention your unfortunate . . . 'outburst' in the same class."

"Malfoy made me do it!" Hermione burst out and then turned red, muttering an apology at McGonagall's steady glare. The Headmistress did not seem surprised at this admission.

"I know that Draco Malfoy can be aggravating at times and perhaps the tradition of the Headgirl and boy sharing a tower is perhaps a little out of place in the circumstances but you were chosen as Headgirl for a reason. Do not make me regret my decision. For now I am willing to overlook this . . . 'display'. I think your embarrassment already has been punishment enough."

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry. I won't let you down again." Hermione was furious for having to apologise for all Malfoy's misdeeds. She dug her fingernails into her palm and let her breath out slowly.

"Well, now that we've cleared that up, is there anything you would like to tell me?" The Professor looked at her expectantly, her fingers steepling beneath her chin.

"Ah, nothing really . . . But there is something I would like to ask you, if it's ok?"

"By all means go ahead," McGonagall said, leaning back in her chair.

"Professor McGonagall, is it . . . um, is it possible to give someone your soul?" The Headmistress gave her a hard look. Hermione's heart raced; she did not know what had prompted her to ask about souls and instantly regretted mentioning it.

"Why do you wish to know, Miss Granger?"

"Oh! No reason . . . I uh . . . came across a reference in a book. It just mentioned something, that's all. I was just curious to know more."

"You must mean Soul Servants, Miss Granger."

"Soul . . . Servants?"

"Yes. I believe the concept was introduced by the great Roman Sorcerers. The Romans were, as you know, particularly fond of slaves. However their Sorcerers were a suspicious breed who coveted their magic and feared betrayal. So they created a magical rite in which a servant or slave would willingly give a Sorcerer his or her soul for a reward such as a monthly wage or a particularly desired item." _So when I agreed to give Malfoy my soul for ten galleons I was initiating this rite, _Hermione thought to herself in realisation. She knew the dangers of sounding too eager and piquing McGonagall's suspicions, yet she _had_ to know more.

"And . . . err . . . what did these Souls Servants do?" she asked, gauging McGonagall's thoughts from her expression. The Headmistress eyed her casually yet she seemed hesitant to continue.

"The magic involved enabled the Soul Servant to feel the emotions and the pain of their Master in order to best serve them. If skin contact was made the Soul Servant was forced to absorb the anxieties and negative feelings of their Master so that the Sorcerer could concentrate on their spell casting. They would also be forced to undertake any orders their Master gave them. This was to ensure that the Soul Servant was obedient and did not betray the Sorcerer. Normally a Soul Servant was of the opposite sex to the Sorcerer – depending on the Sorcerer's preference – in order to satisfy _all_ of their Master's needs." Hermione suppressed a snort of contempt – like she was ever going to let that happen!

"It's strange that there's nothing in the library on this . . . apart from the reference I found, of course." Hermione was not the best of liars.

"The magic involved is ancient by our standards and highly complex, with many requirements. For instance, specific conditions are needed. The ritual is not widely known now; the knowledge was lost when it became socially unacceptable to own a human life, although the ideology does differ somewhat from muggle slavery."

"How do you know this?" Hermione knew she had crossed a line when the Headmistress' eyes hardened and the creases in her face grew deeper.

"As an accomplished witch, I do have access to materials far advanced for even the restricted section of the library. I expect, when you are older, you will achieve status respectable for such texts, but for now, Miss Granger, I suggest you keep your curiosity in check. This is dangerous magic we talk about. I hope I have explained sufficiently." Hermione wondered what such texts were and how it was possible to get access to them. She looked at McGonagall and felt that the Head was not divulging all she knew.

"Yes. Thank you, Professor. That was very helpful."

"Very well, Miss Granger. You may go but I would like to see an improvement in your behaviour and class attendance please. Oh, and make sure you keep up with your duties."

"Yes, Professor. Of course."

* * *

On the way to her common room, lost in thought, Hermione did not notice her two friends approach her.

"Hermione?" She walked straight past, puzzling over what McGonagall had told her and how much of what she had learnt she should reveal to Malfoy. He could use it against her after all. _And what were the specific conditions that had to take place?_ _If Hermione knew them then maybe she could break them and get her soul back!_

"Hermione, what has gotten into you?"

"Hmmm?" she said, turning around. "Oh, it's you." Ron and Harry stared at her, equally appalled.

"What happened in class? First you _willingly_ paired up with Malfoy and the next thing I know you're on Slughorn's desk raving about how much McGonagall turns you on. You're acting real weird, Hermione," Ron almost hissed, his ears turning pink.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked, with a bit more sympathy. Hermione struggled with herself. Her friends had always been there to support her and she had always felt she could tell them anything but could she face telling them she had been stupid enough to sign away her own soul? Coming to a decision, she glanced about the corridor for passersby and, when she was assured there were none, pulled her friends into an alcove.

"Ok. I'll tell you what's going on but you have to promise me you won't repeat a word or go mental. Ok?" She watched them nod their heads, blatant curiosity upon their faces.

"I might have done something really stupid." She paused. "I might have sold my soul to Malfoy." Ron burst out laughing and Harry looked at her with a startled expression.

"Shut up, Ron. It's true," Hermione snapped. Ron closed his mouth and gave her a look as if she were crazy.

"That's not possible," Harry said.

"That's what I thought. Right at the beginning of term, Malfoy was winding me up, saying that I was wrong, that you_ could_ sell a soul, just to freak me out, taunting me into signing this stupid slip of paper. Neither of us believed it; I was just trying to prove a point and he was just being Malfoy. But then weird things started to happen and I was forced to do everything he ordered. And I can feel his emotions too. It turns out that if you sell your soul you become a . . . a type of servant."

"You are joking, right?" Ron asked.

"Do I look like I'm joking, Ron?" Hermione growled. "Today I upset Malfoy and he made me say those stupid things as a punishment. He's awful."

"Have you told McGonagall. She can make him give you your soul back."

"NO! I'm not telling anybody and I mean _anybody_. I got myself into this mess and I can get myself out even if it does mean pandering to Malfoy's whims. I can trick him into giving it back to me, trust me."

"Hermione, I don't think that's a good idea. You should tell a teacher."

"No, Harry. I know what I'm doing." She walked away, leaving her two friends and their questions alone in the corridor. She could hear them discussing her before she had even rounded the corner and felt bad for not explaining in enough detail, yet she was too weary to even think about souls anymore. She just wanted to close her eyes and forget this whole affair.

Unfortunately Malfoy was waiting for her in the common room, hands behind his head and a smile on his face. She paused before walking into the room, steeling herself for his constant barrage of insults and aggravations. She noticed that he was not as pristine looking as usual. He had completely thrown off his green and silver tie and had loosened the top buttons of his shirt; even his hair looked slightly out of place. His unusual appearance surprised her and she wondered if he now saw her as so little a threat that he was willing to lower his guard in her company. This did nothing to lighten her mood. She would rather Malfoy feared her than did not respect her at all. She dumped her bag on the table, taking a seat opposite him and tiredly running a hand through her hair, waiting.

"Go on then," she prompted.

"Go on with what?" He had a sly look in his eyes.

"The insults, the taunts etc." He just looked at her with that smile and she thought that he might be feeling a little sorry for what he had done to her.

"Well, seeing as you've decided to be civil, I might tell you what I found out today concerning _my_ soul."

"_Do tell_," he said in a sarcastically enthusiastic voice. Hermione decided to ignore his tone.

"When I signed that stupid piece of paper we sort of initiated some kind of magical rite . . . uh, it's hard to explain." He was looking at her with an intensity in his grey eyes that made her nervous.

"How do you know this?" His voice was low, dangerously subdued. She felt a flicker of worry course from his mind to hers like an instantaneous spark.

"McGonagall told me . . . but I didn't tell her about the contract," she said quickly, watching him relax slightly.

"What did she say?"

"Well it's to do with the Roman Sorcerers. They bought a person's soul and that person became their servant . . . a Soul Servant."

"So _you _are _my_ Soul Servant." He grinned. "Oh this is too good! What else did the old bat tell you?"

"Remember when you grabbed my wrist and I saw inside your head? Well, it turns out that, when touching the Sorcerer, these servants absorbed any negative thoughts so that the Sorcerer could concentrate better." She hadn't told him yet that she could feel his emotions without skin contact, and she wasn't about to let him know now. She could imagine how horrified he would be to realise she could vaguely understand what he was thinking just by being near him and of course he would blame her for this, so she left that part of McGonagall's explanation out.

"That could come in useful. What a brilliant idea. Is that all?"

"The Roman Sorcerers used Soul Servants so they wouldn't be betrayed. But you wouldn't know about trust or loyalty, would you?" It had been a sly dig, anger at his sarcasm, but she immediately regretted saying anything. He was up and across the room before she could blink. He knelt before her, his finger pointed accusingly in her face.

"Don't you ever mention loyalty to me! I know all about fucking loyalty. It makes you weak and vulnerable. Who needs it? It's almost as bad as _love._" She didn't know what to say. She _wanted_ to say that he was wrong; that loyalty and love made you stronger but she knew he didn't want to hear that. _What kind of person hated to know loyalty? What kind of person hated to love?_

Instead, in a sudden moment of sympathy, she grasped the hand pointing threateningly in her face, enveloping his fingers with her own, skin against skin. The last thing she saw was the surprised look in his silver eyes before her mind was flooded by images.

_Midnight corridors, the reverberating sound of incantation and deep, humming voices. Flickering fires, grotesque featured prisoners, sides dripping, eyes empty. Towering men in black cloaks and shadowed faces in dark hoods, emotionless statues. Cold flagstone floors and crumpled figures, posed with faces of horror. A scream. A woman with a sheet of white blonde hair and a tear streaked face holding up her hands, soaked in blood, red drops pattering to the floor in a chilling echo. A teacup lying on its side, a stain slowly spreading across the rug. Laughter._

She watched image after image until her heart was sick. What person could live that life?_ See_ those things? Finally, just as she thought she would be overwhelmed by the images, she found she was able to detach herself from the pain, push it into a corner of her mind so that she could concentrate on her own thoughts. She was still aware of the images and thoughts flickering by but they no longer dominated her conscience.

Regaining her own vision, she stared at Malfoy. His face had gained a sheen and it seemed as if the colour in his eyes shifted like mercury. Even his features seemed less drawn, with slightly pinked cheeks and lowered shoulders. He had entwined his fingers around her own and when she tried to pull away he wouldn't let go, instead wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her forward, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. _Draco Malfoy was hugging her! _They sat like that for a while. Although Hermione wanted nothing more than to rid the horrors from her head, a strange sympathy for the boy before her washed through her. There were some things a person should never have to see, and they were all bottled up in Malfoy, simmering and festering, rotting his soul.

"Err . . . Malfoy," she breathing was steady, his hot breath warming her neck. Was he asleep? She shifted slightly and grasped him by the shoulders, pulling him upright and letting him kneel by himself. Still he grasped her hand, staring at her with wide open eyes, almost like a small boy looking to his mother. She had been supporting him with one hand on his shoulder but now she let go, pulling her hand away from his. Immediately a change shivered through him, his features hardened and he jumped away from her, turning his back. He stood perfectly still, lost in thought, and she watched him hesitantly. _What had just happened?_

She sensed shame and fear seep from his consciousness to hers. She tried to understand what he was feeling. After all that time of having those memories crawling around inside him, contaminating his every thought, it was not surprising he was so angry, not even surprising that he would want to hold onto her, to grasp the chance to have a few minutes of _peace. _She could tell he was confused too. He was obviously trying to make sense of his need to cling to her, combined with disgust at having willingly touched a _mudblood. _But most of all, he was angry again. She tried to brace herself for his oncoming rage. Obviously he would blame her for what happened.

"I understand." He didn't respond. "I understand," she repeated, "that you want to forget. It's not shameful." She felt the wave of anger before he even turned around but the hate on his face was almost unbearable.

"Don't even pretend you understand," he snarled. "You don't have a clue." He stormed up to his bedroom, making Hermione wince at the sound of his door slamming. She knew she shouldn't care, that this was Malfoy, the boy who had always insisted on making her life hell. She told herself that he deserved to feel this way, yet a part of her still pitied him. Who could live a life where every waking thought was one of anger and hate at the world, at the cards you had been dealt? If that had been her she would have jumped at the chance to relieve the pain. She marvelled at the resolve Malfoy had to stay away from her, to give up the peace she afforded. He must really hate her . . .

* * *

_**A.N. **__I was really pleased with the response I got from posting the second chapter. Thanks to everyone who submitted a review. It means a lot to me. Seeing as this story has gained quite a bit of interest, I'm aiming to give it more attention than my other pieces and hopefully post new chapters regularly._


	4. Chapter IV

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter IV**

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, just listening to the sound of her own breathing. _Peace_. She had spent the whole day avoiding Malfoy and his wrath and had instead been lumbered with the laughter of the entire school. Malfoy had meant to embarrass her with his trick in Potions class and as usual he had succeeded. Hermione just hoped that soon someone else would make more of a fool of themselves than she had, moving the spotlight onto some other poor unfortunate. But now, in the safety of her common room, she could finally relax . . . or so she thought.

The loud thump by her ear caused her eyes to shoot open. A pile of books rose from the table in front of her up to her eye level and from behind them Malfoy smirked down at her.

"Give me a break, Malfoy! Part of that stupid contract is that I get use of the common room whenever I like. I think that applies now." She tried to match his smirk but somehow couldn't muster the venom. Sometimes she could still see those memories that had flickered through her mind, leaving a foul taste behind.

"That is exactly what I mean to do – leave you with use of the common room to do _my _homework." Hermione knew Malfoy was trying to punish her, because her presence dared to tempt him to weakness, to forget the troubles in his life, but this was simply ridiculous!

"That's not likely, Malfoy," she said incredulously, staring up at him from her seat by the table. He sighed dramatically, tapping the pile of books with a long, pristine finger.

"I thought, perhaps I wouldn't have to spell it out for you but if you insist on misbehaving . . . From now on I will leave my homework on this table. You will complete my homework before doing your own, with the same accuracy and care you would put into your own work. You will finish it before it is due to be handed in and only then will you be able to do your own homework. I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

"Wait, Malfoy!" There was more than a hint of desperation in her voice when she called him back. He turned and smiled at her, an evil glint to his eye. She could feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves, a smugness that made her grit her teeth. _He wanted her to beg! He wanted her to kneel helpless before him and beg him to let her off! He wanted her to show him the same weakness, he had shown her_; _to bring her down to the same level. _She could see him almost leaning forward, eager to hear her plead for mercy.

"That's impossible. You know I can't . . ." She stopped.

"You can't what?" He licked his pale lips, eager to win over her, to prove that he had the power to either make her life a complete misery or at least make it bearable. She stared at him in horror, her dark eyes widening. _Never_ would she beg him for anything. She'd dig up mountains before she would give in to him.

"That's fine. When is the first assignment due?" she asked with faked casualness, flicking through the stack of papers. She felt his anger and irritation and this strengthened her resolve.

"The first is for Monday, so you can have _all _weekend to make sure it's perfect." Hermione had her own assignments due for the following week but now she would be forced to complete Malfoy's first. How long would he keep this up? How long before she crumbled and gave in?

* * *

The year began to wane and the night air grew chill and sharp. The last of the summer winds whisked through the castle, muttering howls and moans that raised the hairs on the neck. The golden sun paled and began to set early behind the mountain, whose snowy peak inched further down the rocky slopes a little each day. Even the trees began to shed their leaves, revealing the nude branches beneath. At night the cold breezes whispered across the lake, mingling with the still warm waters to create a ghostly mist that writhed on the glassy surface, creating smoky shapes and faces with black holes for eyes and mouth. It was at such a phenomenon that Hermione now stared wistfully from her bedroom window, her pale face drawn and dark shadows under her eyes.

More than a month had passed since Malfoy bestowed his punishment and she felt it now more than ever. Below her, in the corridors of the school, students prepared for the great wizarding celebration that was Halloween. Carved pumpkins grinned in the most gleeful ways, staring from corners of darkened corridors. Great flocks of candles floated in circuits, high and low, around the eaves, twinkling like stars in the dark. Hermione could hear the traditional music floating from the halls below, flutes and gentle harp notes, mixed with the excited chatter and laughs of an entire school. Hermione would be missing the feast tonight.

She spared precious little time for herself now days. All her efforts were spent completing not only her own work but also Malfoy's. Each week she would place a stack of completed tasks on the common room table and the next day there would be a new pile. In order to complete it all she often worked long into the night and both friends and teachers had commented on how pale she had become; only Harry and Ron knew the reason for it.

Malfoy remained as cruel and as detached as ever. She stayed away from him for the most part, too angry to even bring herself to speak with him, yet sometimes he stood in the room as she held her back to him, just watching her work herself away. She could feel his cold eyes pierce her back and she knew he was just waiting, waiting for her to break; and all because she was the temptation of comfort and weakness. She could hardly help this. What person punished those because they could offer help?

And no matter how far she tried to run from him, she could still feel his presence; that boiling anger inside of him that hissed and writhed whenever she was near. The worst was at night when there was little to distract Hermione from entering his head and becoming lost in the torrent of emotions that swirled in Malfoy's thoughts. Anger and hate and spite. But sometimes there was pleasure. A deep ache that grew and grew until . . . She knew what he was doing and it made her feel sick to even know yet it made her ache and yearn and want to press her fingers lower and lower. She would not let herself; not because of _his _doing; not whilst thinking of _him._ And after the pleasure came the loneliness, the self-loathing and disgust that almost incited pity within her. And always, _always_ that undercurrent of rage. She did not know if Malfoy was getting angrier every day or if his emotions echoed louder in her head with each passing hour.

"You're not coming to the feast, are you?" Hermione's gaze snapped back from the ethereal landscape below her to the two figures standing by her door. A piece of parchment sat ready on her lap, the quill still poised in her fingers although the ink had welled at the nib and dripped onto the paper. Hermione glanced at the blemish on her parchment with something akin to despair. It was the smallest of things but it was just another straw upon her laden back. Tears blurred her eyes.

"How did you get in?" she whispered.

"Surprisingly Malfoy let us in, smug git. You don't have to take this, Hermione. Let the lazy prick do his own work for once."

"You know that's not how it works, Ron," she sighed, shaking her head forlornly.

"This is too much. You can't keep living like this. How long before you make yourself ill?"

"When I get my soul back everything will be fine again." It was the dogma Hermione was sticking to; it was what kept her going when she was so tired she could barely lift her head.

"Hermione, me and Harry have been talking and we don't think you can get it back on your own. You need help . . . from a teacher."

"No! How many times do I have to tell you? I'll get it back, trust me."

"It doesn't look like you're getting very far. You could at least talk to Malfoy. Ask him to let up on the work load," Ron continued.

"That's what he wants. He wants me to break and go begging and snivelling at his feet. I won't do it!" Her friends looked at each other in slight alarm and she knew what they were thinking. _They believe I'm crazy!_ She didn't care what they thought. This was Malfoy's idea of some sick test and she was going to play by the rules and get top marks like she always did and at the end the prize would be her soul. Harry had not spoken since he and Ron had entered the room but now he stepped forward, his brows knitted into a frown.

"We'll confront him together," he said. Hermione was about to argue when Harry grabbed her wrist. She flinched, waiting for the barrage of images and pain but none came and when she opened her eyes she noticed she was being pulled down her bedroom staircase. _Of course, it's only Harry_, she told herself, letting the small amount of human contact warm her.

Malfoy was sitting in the common room with his feet propped up in front of the fire.

"Oi!" Harry called and the blonde boy lazily turned, casting a steely eye across Hermione and her companions. "Give her back what's hers."

"I wondered how long it would take," he drawled, rising slowly to his feet. He didn't seem at all surprised to know Hermione had told her friends about her soul.

"This has nothing to do with me," Hermione said quickly. "I'm not giving in, Malfoy."

"On the contrary, Granger. I think it has _everything_ to do with you. Your little bodyguards here seem to have a problem."

"Give it back, Malfoy," Ron demanded, curling and uncurling his fists. "This is an abuse of human rights." Malfoy gave a condescending laugh that seemed to echo from all directions and Hermione could feel his amusement reverberate through her. _He was amused by her suffering!_

"She has no rights. She lost those when she idiotically gave me her soul." Malfoy lounged against the side of the sofa and produced the slip of paper from his breast pocket. Hermione had noticed that he always kept it with him now and, on the occasional time that she paused to observe him, she would sometimes see him pat his chest or slip his fingers into his pocket to feel for the paper as if to remind himself that it was still there. "Is this what you are looking for?" Ron lunged for it but Malfoy moved so that the sofa was between him and the red head.

"Ron!" Hermione called. She knew this was going to escalate; something bad was about to happen. Harry placed a hand on either side of her shoulders.

"Look at her!" he commanded. The whole room stilled. Ron stopped his attempt to steal the parchment and Malfoy's hands fell to his sides. "Look at what you're doing to her!" Harry continued, pushing Hermione forwards slightly, her hollow eyes staring at the blonde. And he did look, the seconds ticking into what seemed hours as he stared at her. To Hermione, it was like a storm raged in his eyes, clouds whirling in the silver irises. She held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. The anger inside him mounted, building and building . . . and then the wave crashed and something inside him broke. For a second she felt a deep horror and just the smallest amount of regret and shame, it flickered into life and then was drowned.

"_Accio Parchment!"_ The slip of paper tore from Malfoy's hand and he gave a sound of surprise.

"Nice one mate," Ron cheered, taking the ragged note from Harry and waving it at Malfoy in victory.

"Give it back!" The blonde boy roared.

"Ron, stop!" Hermione called, knowing that Malfoy was reaching for his wand. Ron had moved to stand by the fire, holding the paper dangerously close to the crackling flames. They reached up, writhing towards the new source of energy hungrily, spitting in glee. Malfoy pointed his wand, a cool, menacing smile upon his face.

"I've wanted an excuse to kill you for a while now, Weasley." Ron gave a nervous laugh.

"Ron, I don't think he's joking," Hermione whispered, wondering where the hell she had left her own wand. _Was it her, or had the room suddenly become very hot?_ A trickle of sweat ran down her temple and she took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I should have done this ages ago," Ron said, shoving the parchment closer to the fire.

"No!" Malfoy cried. Another bead of sweat ran down her face. _Merlin, it _was_ hot! _She could barely breathe; the air had become so heavy and seared her throat as she inhaled.

"Something's wrong," she muttered. Malfoy's head whipped round, snarling a command, not realising the consequences of his actions.

"Shut up, Granger. Sit down and shut up. I'm sorting this." She complied, she was forced to. The room blurred before her as another wave of sweltering heat crashed over her. She was burning, flames all around her, licking up her ankles and blistering her skin. Tears mingled with the sweat on her skin and more than anything she wanted to cry out, to stop the agony. She looked up at Harry, trying to convey a message through the expression on her face but he was not looking at her, his whole attention consumed by the argument ensuing.

"Don't talk to her like that and don't order her around," Ron shouted.

"Give me back what is mine, Weasley. You don't know what magic you're messing with." The flames were leaping up to taste the parchment, the edges curling inwards and browning. It would not be long before it finally caught fire. Hermione's hands clasped her throat, smoke filling her lungs, poisoning her blood stream. Inside her own head she screamed, crying out in pain. Suddenly Malfoy looked at her.

"Granger?" She didn't reply. Ron held his mouth open, ready to continue the argument, ignoring the heat burning his fingers. But Malfoy was no longer paying him any attention. He had quickly crossed the room and was kneeling before her. Through the pain she noticed the irony of the situation. He was in the same position as he had been when this whole battle had begun, that night so long ago when he had allowed himself to embrace her, kneeling before her. Except this time, it was Hermione who was desperate for someone to take the pain away.

Raising an arm, Malfoy looked as if he wanted to put a hand to her forehead to check her temperature but at the last moment he snatched it back.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked. He had moved from the fire, the contract still clasped in his hands and, as he distanced himself with the flames, Hermione felt cool air wash over her and into her lungs. She took a gasping breath.

"Granger?" Malfoy repeated, ignoring Ron. "Say something." Immediately she felt the pressure on her muscles alleviate.

"Ron, give Malfoy back the contract!" Her voice was hoarse but with every second she felt the pain receding. Ron looked at her in confusion.

"But-"

"Now, Ron! And neither of you are to touch or steal it from Malfoy again. Understand?" They looked at her, speechless.

"Hermione, wha-" Harry started.

"Go! Just go. I'm too tired to explain now. I'll talk to you in the morning." The pair shuffled out, Ron reluctantly handing over the paper to a smug looking Malfoy. Hermione swallowed her feelings of guilt. She was leaving them in confusion yet again.

"What was that about?" Malfoy asked, smoothing the creases from the contract, looking at it approvingly and folding it, tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Just keep that parchment safe, ok? I swear the flames from the fire were burning _me_ as well as the paper. I think there's complicated magic involved. I've got to find out more." She shivered and rubbed her arms roughly. "It was blistering my skin. I could feel it."

"Stand up!" Malfoy commanded and of course she obeyed."Hold out your hands." She opened her mouth to complain as he leaned in closer.

"What're you do-" But he cut her off before she could finish.

"Not a mark . . . I swore I could see it," the blonde boy muttered to himself, holding her hands up to his face by her sleeves, making sure not to graze her bare skin with his own.

"See what?" He gave her a piercing gaze and then broke it quickly, turning to look at the flickering flames in fireplace, crackling with sound almost like mocking laughter.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter . . . I don't like being threatened in my own common room. Don't let your little sidekicks do that again." Hermione sighed.

"They just don't understand how someone can make another suffer in such a way. I, on the other hand, am now used to it."

"Don't be a fool, Granger. It's not that bad, it's character building." It was a cruel joke on his part yet it sounded half-hearted, weary, like he was tired of mocking her.

"Must you always reduce those around you to the same pitiful sub-existence as yourself?"

"Do you despise me for it? Do you feel sick every time you look at me?" he snarled. Hermione was taken aback by the intensity in his voice. She met his gaze and held it, noticing the hint of nervousness from her defiance.

"No. I don't hate you." As she said it, she realised it was true. She could never hate something as pathetic as him. "I just pity you."

With a quick movement, he threw the table over in anger. Books and quills and an ink bottle came crashing to the floor in a heap of splintered wood. She forced herself not to flinch, standing strong as items scattered across her feet.

"You're lying! You hate me. Why wouldn't you? I make your life hell!" Hermione looked at him. She could feel his desperation. He _wanted_ her to hate him, _needed_ her to hate him. She knew he was desperately trying to hold onto that which he was familiar with: hate and anger. But she could feel how tired he was, how much it took out of him to stay angry all the time. He didn't _want_ to be this way. Worming doubt crawled across his mind; she could feel it as if it were her own. _Was it her own? _How could she tell anymore whose feelings were whose? But just one look in his weary eyes told her that he was fighting against giving up. Hermione had to stop herself from smiling. She had him right where she wanted him. Now if she so chose she could expose his weakness. He was already breaking; she had felt his horror and shame at mistreating her. She had to act now before he could summon the wall of anger up again – _now_!

"I know why you won't let me help you. You've survived so long filled with anger that you're scared that, if it's taken away, there'll be nothing left of you. I'm right, aren't I? You're scared of who you'll be without that rage. You don't want me to see you vulnerable, without that wall of anger around every other emotion."

"Don't be idiotic," he snorted but she knew that she was right. She held out her hand, her fingers shaking visibly.

"I can help you," she said. He shifted in place, his usual bravado dropping and a look of uncertainty upon his face. There was _need_ in his eyes. The need to be free from his memories and emotions.

"I'm not pathetic."

"You don't have to be. It's not a weakness to want freedom." Her hand was still outstretched. "Take my hand." He took it.

_Hermione's own reflection stared back at her, pale, white face and dark, weary eyes. Her hair was a wild halo, falling into her eyes, highlighted by the golden flames._

"_Look at her!" Harry's voice ordered. Hermione's reflection was pushed forward. She had a tired expression but there was defiance in her eyes. "Look at what you're doing to her!" Shame, horror, regret, weariness. _If only it could all be forgotten, if only I could go back to the start_, a thought that was not her own wished._

The image shifted.

_A blonde woman with a tear-streaked face held her bloodied hands. The scarlet liquid dripped to the floor in a rhythmic beat, spattering into smaller drops that flew across the stone flooring._

"_Look at her!" Malfoy's quavering voice cried. The voice was younger sounding, raw, as if this intense terror and rage was a new, unfamiliar emotion. "Look what you're doing to her." A man laughed like the crack of lightening and there was only pain._

The image shifted.

_Hermione looked upon her own reflection once again, seated in the chair, face twisted in pain. All around her reflection flames danced and flickered, golden and ever hungry, coursing up pale skin, devouring. But as Hermione watched, she felt the flames weren't really there, that they were just a mirage, a pale copy of the real thing. She heard a high-pitched scream coming from the girl, although her reflection had not opened its mouth. She felt fear, but this wasn't the normal kind, it was fear for another, and worry and a sharp pain in her chest – in her heart._

The memories she viewed from Malfoy's point of view were suddenly dispelled, pushed to the side as a more urgent feeling arose. Malfoy had brought her close to his chest, clutching her tight with both arms. She felt breathless and thought for a second that he was crushing her, but that wasn't it. An ache in her chest rose unbidden, a need to let go, to speak things she didn't know she had wanted to say. He sighed, his chest brushing against hers and she felt her back arching into him of its own accord. He didn't notice, his eyes were closed and all he wanted was to allow her to help him forget. _He didn't _want_ her._ _He just wanted peace . . . Just another reason to hate him_, she thought as indifferently as she could.

* * *

The next day the pile of books waiting for her on the common room table had been halved, the next week it was a quarter of what it once had been, the week after that the table lay bare. Hermione smiled to herself in victory as she looked upon the empty table. She understood that it was Malfoy admitting defeat in his own way. She knew better than to expect an apology or even a word from him. But it was a step towards winning, a scored point. And the prize? Her soul.

* * *

**A.N.**_ Sorry it took so long to update. I have been ill. If you are confused by this chapter then please bear with me, everything will be explained. On an additional note, I know this is awful to ask but if you like my writing style please check out my other stories. They are sorely lacking in criticism, reviews and just plain views. I would really appreciate feedback. Also I would like to say a huge thanks to all the people who have reviewed this story. Thank you so much._

_Anna_


	5. Chapter V

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter V**

Hermione was sitting in charms when the first snows came, drifting down to settle on the already frostbitten grass. Without a word being said, a ripple ran through the class. Pupils began craning their necks towards the wide arched windows, eyes seeking the white flakes that promised hours of frivolity, and a low murmur shivered across the room. Hermione scowled as Harry and Ron jostled her shoulder to look out of the window at her side.

"Yes!" Ron said, looking at the thin layer of white with glee. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the front where Professor Flitwick was trying in vain to gain the class' attention.

"Attention! Class! Attention!" his high pitched voice piped up as he tapped his wand against the side of his desk. A few students reluctantly sat back down but most had their faces pressed to the glass speculating on whether or not the snow would freeze or melt and how thick it would fall. Flitwick gave a defeated sigh as he saw the class steadily break down into excited chatter and laughter.

"I suppose I won't get much more taught today. You may leave but I want that essay completed over the holidays," he shouted after the quickly retreating class, who headed straight for the nearest exit and out into the snow.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry called as the last of the students filtered out. The brown-haired girl turned towards him. She had been staring out at the beginnings of a snowstorm, a faraway look in her eyes and a thoughtful expression on her brow.

"I'll catch up with you," she answered, beginning to gather her things as Harry left, too impatient to wait for her. As soon as he had disappeared, she dropped her bag and walked over to Flitwick's desk, who was completely absorbed in marking an essay. Hermione had to politely cough before he noticed she was there.

"Oh, ah, Miss Granger! Not out enjoying the snow? What is it I can do for you?" Hermione did not answer straight away. She spared a second to make sure she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Well, Professor. I was just wondering. You see, as Headgirl, I am considering my future prospects and I was wondering whether I could become Headmistress . . . of Hogwarts." Flitwick looked at her for a second, staring over his glasses in astonishment.

"Well, Miss Granger. With a good set of results I am sure you can become anything you want but Headmistress is indeed a possible achievement, although it is of course the choice of the Ministry officials at the time and you would have to train as a teacher beforehand. It is not a guaranteed position."

"Of course, Professor. But I just wanted to know what was _involved_ in being a Headmistress. Just out of curiosity, so I know for later reflection."

"Ah, I see. Being the Head of Hogwarts is a tiresome job, Miss Granger. The behaviour, rules and general welfare of the students must be regulated at all times. Teachers must be hired and observed-"

"Yes but what _benefits _does a Headmistress receive." She knew it was a risk interrupting Flitwick's flow but she was becoming impatient. She wasn't at all interested in the job of a Headmistress but she couldn't let him know that.

"Benefits, Miss Granger? I'm not sure _that_ is a reason for becoming an esteemed Head of Hogwarts." Hermione grit her teeth and cursed under her breath for making the wrong move.

"No, no, no. That's not what I mean at all," she tried to comfort her Charms teacher. She exhaled, deciding to take a new approach. "I was talking to Professor McGonagall and she was telling me that as a Headmaster or mistress you get access to resources. I was just wondering what those resources were and of course I came straight to you because I knew that _you_ would have the answer." Flitwick's tiny chest puffed out at the flattery.

"Well there are objects, items with properties that help you such as extremely powerful timeturners, the Sorting Hat and other such artefacts. The portraits of former Headmistresses and masters also aid a Head. And there are the texts-"

"Texts? Really? Does . . . err, does Professor McGonagall have a library then?" Flitwick looked at her with a sudden flicker of suspicion so she smiled at him amicably, feigning an innocent look.

"Well . . . yes, there is a small library in the castle." Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "Err . . . perhaps that is enough information for today. After all, these _resources,_ as you so put it, are not for a student to know." Hermione bowed her head and conceded defeat. She would be unable to glean any more information from Flitwick; she would have to figure the rest out for herself.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick. It was just a passing curiosity, you understand?"

"I understand, Miss Granger. Even the most wise of us still wonder at the power we could one day have under our control." Hermione smiled and left, letting the Professor believe she was just power hungry and nothing else. The corridors were almost deserted as she wandered along them but playful cries and shouts echoed up from outside. There was a carefree feeling in the air. It was Friday the seventeenth of December and over the weekend students would begin to make their way home, on train, by floo or even, for the seventh years, by apparition. Reminding herself that she still had to pack for the train leaving on Sunday, she headed for her common room, compiling a list of books she would need to take with her as she walked.

As usual, Malfoy sat in the common room. He had little elsewhere to go and she knew he felt contented to sit and amuse himself in his own personal space. Today he played wizard chess, conjuring the board to play for one side. She snorted in mock laughter when she saw the sight.

"You could always play with me," he said, looking up. She was taken aback by how calm he was. Ever since she had 'broken' him, as Hermione liked to call it, he spent less time hating her. Perhaps it was because, every now and then, they would end up making skin contact and for a while his anger would subside.

It hadn't been easy to get Malfoy to give in and accept the help the Soul Servant sourcery afforded him. She knew, he didn't want to appear eager for the peace her touch gave him and he _definitely _didn't want to appear dependant on her. And he was scared of what memories she would stumble upon in the process, what truths she would inadvertently uncover, that would give her power over him. Neither would he allow himself to appear so weak and needy as to outright _ask_ for her to touch him.

So instead they had developed a kind of routine; he would order her to do something, she would argue, tell him how pathetic he was, how he needed to let go, and in a display of anger he would grab a hold of her and in the process let her take away the pain. It was Malfoy's way of 'accidently' achieving what he needed, without appearing weak to Hermione. But, despite their routine, she still felt his reluctance to be near her. She didn't know whether she found this frustrating or a relief.

Hermione did not _want_ Malfoy touching her; just the thought made her skin crawl and she hated seeing the horrors inside his head. But she wanted him to become dependent on her helping him to forget. That way he might be more willing to give her back her soul or at least be less commanding. Any ounce of control she could muster over him was a step forward.

"I – I have to go pack," she said, almost stumbling under his gaze.

"Pack?"

"It _is _the holidays." Malfoy's mouth formed into an 'oh!' and he frowned. She didn't bother to say any more but left, running up the staircase, his glare piercing her back.

Ten minutes passed before he interrupted her packing. She sighed tiredly, turning towards him, unsurprised by his sudden appearance. She'd had an unsettling feeling ever since she'd walked away from him. She could feel his irritation and somehow she had the impression he had been pacing across the common room floor before he had entered her room.

"You could knock," she muttered, not even bothering to turn round to acknowledge his presence.

"Unpack," he said simply. Immediately her hands started drag out the neatly folded clothes and dump them on the bed. As she did so she turned and glared at Malfoy.

"What-"

"You're not going anywhere." The contents of her trunk spilled onto the floor and she laughed nervously.

"Of course I am. I always go home for Christmas."

"No. You're staying here." Hermione scowled.

"But I want to see my parents." Malfoy knelt before her.

"Well _I _have to stay here and I don't want to spend the entire holiday with myself for company."

"Don't be like that, Malfoy," she said, sitting back.

"You're staying here," he repeated. "Write a letter to your parents but let me read it first. I'll send it. And tell your two oafs that you're willingly staying here. Don't even try to tell, write or convey to _anybody _that I told you to stay."

"Very well," Hermione sighed, closing her trunk. She knew that arguing would be pointless but Malfoy seemed to be surprised at her reaction.

"Where're the insults, Granger?" he asked.

"Oh, is that what you wanted? I don't really feel like it," she muttered mockingly, digging out parchment and a quill. She was furious but she pushed the feeling down, not wanting to destroy the progress she had made with Malfoy by angering him. Besides, this could prove an opportunity for her to explore the deserted school for this secret library of McGonagall's without being caught out. Malfoy sat on a stool in the corner as she wrote the letter, watching her warily.

"Here. How's that?" she asked, handing him the parchment. He nodded seriously. "I'm doing you a favour, right?" He looked up at her question.

"What?"

"I'm doing you a favour," she repeated. "So I want you to do something for me . . . when I ask. Please?"

"What favour?" he asked suspiciously, folding the letter and putting it into his pocket.

"I don't know yet. I just need to know you'll help me if I ask." She looked at him. She'd asked him nicely but she wasn't going to beg and he knew it. He gave her a glance that said "we'll see" and left. Hermione sat back on the bed with a sigh, folding her spilled shirts and resigning herself to two weeks of boredom.

* * *

The snow was still falling on Sunday as a long line of students dragged their luggage to the entrance of the castle. Hermione stood on the lawn in front of the lake, flakes of snow settling in her hair to create a white halo. Big chunks of ice floated on the surface of the lake, breaking away from the frozen edges of the shore and bobbing in the chill wind that cut right through cloaks and coats.

"Are you sure you're not coming? You could come to my house with Harry if you don't want to go home." Hermione shook her head and smiled at her friend.

"It's fine, Ron. I have lots of work to get on with. It's best I stay here."

"But _Malfoy's_ here," Harry commented.

"Oh, don't worry about _him_. I know exactly what I'm doing, Harry, don't worry. He's not as clever as he looks, you know. If I can make him dependent on me, make him think that he needs me to help him, then I think I can manipulate him into giving me back my soul."

"Just be careful," Harry said gravely, looking at her seriously over his glasses, reminding her a little of Dumbledore. She smiled reassuringly and kissed him on the cheek.

"Have a good Christmas, Harry. You too, Ron," she said, giving him a hug. Ron looked as if he wanted to argue but Harry was already shouldering a small bag of possessions and heading towards the waiting carriages.

"Look after yourself, Hermione," Ron said, giving her a last look and sprinting off to catch up with his friend. Hermione sighed, watching the carriages depart, wishing she could be going with them. The snow was thick; it would be up to her knees if she wasn't standing on top of it and getting back to the castle would be a treacherous affair. She wrapped her thick winter robes about her and set her sights on the glowing comfort of the castle's windows.

The large wooden doors, banded with black iron, banged noisily as they closed behind her, cutting out the sharp wind but creating a feeling almost like imprisonment for Hermione. Her footsteps echoed eerily in the deserted corridors making her shiver, an oppressing loneliness pushing down on Hermione like a millstone. She shook her head, clearing it of wandering thoughts and paranoia. She focused on the things she could achieve whilst she was alone in the castle rather than the negative aspects. The Headteacher's library. She _had_ to find that library and the information on Soul Servants. If she could then it might tell her a way of cancelling the contract, something, _anything_, would be a help.

* * *

The school library was empty but Madam Pince was there as she always was; come rain or shine, summer or winter, the librarian could always be found in her domain. Hermione dumped a pile of books on the desk, waiting for the grey-haired woman to look up. Madam Pince sniffed loudly and continued to file books on a trolley by her desk. Hermione guessed the austere woman still hadn't forgiven her for an overdue book two months ago. She rolled her eyes and tapped the pile of books impatiently. Finally the wrinkled librarian turned to her.

"Not going home for Christmas, Miss Granger?" Pince said, her dry voice filling the empty library.

"No. Unfortunately not." The woman sniffed again and took a look at the books Hermione had brought with her.

"More of Mr Malfoy's books again. Is he unable to come down to the library himself? So ill perhaps that he cannot face his librarian. Always overdue, that boy," Madam Pince muttered almost to herself.

"Malfoy is very busy, Madam Pince. I try to help him where I can," Hermione lied through almost gritted teeth. Of course, Malfoy had ordered her to take down his books when he had heard where she was going.

"_It's only a short trip," Malfoy had smirked at her from behind his chess board, the pieces clacking woodenly._

"Madam Pince, this _is_ the only library in the school, isn't it?" Hermione said as casually as she could, handing the librarian a book she wanted to check out. Pince looked up, her sharp eyes glaring hostilely.

"I don't know what you mean, Miss Granger. I'm sure that if there was _another_ library you would know about it. What a ridiculous thing to ask? I don't know what put the idea in your head." There was a time when such a reprimand would have left Hermione Granger shamefaced and red cheeked but she had been forced to adapt somewhat over the last few months and now she felt only mild irritation at having been snubbed by a member of the Hogwarts staff yet again. Hermione sighed.

"It was only a slight curiosity, Madam Pince. Thank you for your time," she said, marching out of the library, head held high whilst the librarian stared daggers at her back.

* * *

"What's the matter, Granger? You look like McGonagall gave you a B." Hermione paused, halfway across the common room. She dumped her new library book and sat down heavily on the stool opposite Malfoy's chessboard.

"Haven't you got anything better to do than play chess?" she asked. Absent mindedly she nudged forward Malfoy's opposing queen, taking his bishop.

"As matter of fact, no I haven't," Malfoy answered, studying the board seriously. There was a pause, Hermione lost a pawn. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing really." For a while only the clunk of pieces moving in a strategic ploy could be heard. After a string of moves in which neither progressed, Hermione looked up. She felt a lightness in the atmosphere that she had never experienced whilst in the same room as Malfoy. He was contented, happy to play his game and sit in a deserted castle and for once she felt her shoulders relaxing. He wasn't brooding or angry; it was strange to feel that absence.

"Malfoy, if the Headteacher of Hogwarts had a personal library, where would they keep it?" He looked at her in slight surprise.

"As close as possible, I suppose. It's your turn . . ."

"So in the Head's office? But I've been in McGonagall's office. It's tiny. She can't be hiding a whole library in there."

"That's the beauty of magic, Granger . . . But hers isn't the original office anyway. What's so interesting about a personal library? The main one not enough for you now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow but Hermione had paused, barely paying attention to him.

"_Not the original office_? Of course! There's plenty of room up _there_ to hide all sorts of things. I remember seeing a few doors and alcoves that could lead off to a library."

"What are you up to, Granger?" Hermione looked at him, weighing her options.

"McGonagall told me that she has books on Soul Servants." Malfoy's face turned serious.

"Does it trouble you that your life is in my hands?"

"What do you think? You saw what happened when the contract was held to the fire. We weren't expecting that. What else could happen when we least expect it? My soul, my _life_, is in danger. I _have_ to know!" Hermione's eyes blazed with determination and Malfoy watched her suspiciously.

"Oh, I know where this is going! That favour you were talking about – you want me to help you find this library, don't you? I'm not getting expelled just so you can wriggle out of our agreement . . . Check." Malfoy smirked at her in glorious victory. Hermione looked down at the board, narrowing her eyes.

"I think you are going to help me. You know that if I put my mind to it, I could find ways of avoiding you. I could cast a spell so I'd never hear you again or simply hex your tongue right out of your mouth. Then where would you be? You _need _me." Malfoy laughed and Hermione moved her bishop.

"I don't need you! I think it's purely the other way around."

"Really?" Malfoy made to move a piece but Hermione grabbed his pale hand. "Checkmate." A glazed look came over his eyes, as all negative thoughts faded from his mind. Hermione flinched at the images, letting go and sitting back. Malfoy made a grab for her wrist but she pulled even further away and smiled in a 'told-you-so' way. His perfect features frowned at her and he then looked at the board in surprise.

"You sneaky bitch! I demand a rematch."

"I'd only beat you again." She stood and he mirrored her movements.

"I can always make you stay. I only have to speak and you'd be by my side forever."

"You could. But you don't want to force me. You don't want to be like . . ."

"Like who?" He stepped forward. He knew who she was talking about but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"_Him_. You don't want to do what he did . . . to your mother." Malfoy grabbed her arms. He wasn't angry . . . he was scared.

"Stop looking inside my head! No one should see those – those _things_!" She stared up at him, surprised, before shrugging his hands from her sleeves.

"I can't stop it. If you want me to help you then I have to see it. You _do_ want my help, don't you? Do you trust me?" Malfoy sat back down with a defeated slump, refusing to answer her question. He began resetting the board. Hermione stood watching him in silence as pieces clicked into place.

"Are we playing again?" he asked. She smiled and sat, taking first play.

* * *

**A.N. **_Quite a boring chapter, so I do apologise. The plot will speed up in the next chapter though, you'll get a look at the whole situation from Draco's point of view. I'd like to say a massive thanks to all my reviewers, particularly __**Tiadorable **__and __**Asparaguschan**__ for really encouraging reviews._


	6. Chapter VI

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter VI**

The quiet in the Great Hall was oppressive, eerily stuffy compared to the usual chatter and clamour that normally filled the eaves. The only sound was the clink of cutlery and a low murmur every now and then. The scene was definitely _not_ how Hermione had pictured her Christmas day. Malfoy sat opposite her and she had to resist the urge to kick him beneath the table. After all, it was_ his_ fault that she was having to spend her Christmas here in the first place. Instead she swirled the slab of dry turkey around her plate and pushed the rest to the side with a slightly sickened feeling. She scowled as she felt Malfoy's amusement from across the table.

There were seven other students sitting nearby; four fifth year friends, who she supposed had decided to stay together for Christmas, a sixth year boy and his younger sister whose parents, she had found out, had decided to go away for Christmas, and a third year girl who never looked up from her plate. Most of Hogwarts' staff sat together in a huddle at the opposite end of the table, stony faces and sour looks. Hermione wondered where the Christmas cheer Dumbledore had always managed to bring to the table had disappeared to.

Hermione nudged Malfoy beneath the table with her foot and made a gesture towards the exit. He rolled his eyes but she could tell he would follow her lead. She cleared her throat.

"Professor McGonagall. I'm so sorry but I think I'm coming down with something. If you don't mind I would like to go lie down." She looked expectantly at the Headmistress.

"Of course, Miss Granger. I'm sorry you feel unwell. Madam Pomfrey will be happy to give you something, I'm sure."

"No, no!" Hermione said a little too quickly. "It's only a slight fever. I think I'll be fine once I get some rest." McGonagall nodded and Hermione glared at Malfoy's grin before marching out of the hall. Once in the corridor outside, she sat down on a bench in an alcove and waited, considering what she was going to do next. Minutes ticked by.

"Come on then," a voice echoed in the empty hallway. She jumped, looking up.

"What took you so long?"

"I couldn't follow you straight out, McGonagall would think we were sneaking off to shag in the nearest closet." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't be so crude. What did you say?"

"Just that I wanted to finish an essay. McGonagall looked like she was going to shit herself."

"Writing essays on Christmas day. Great! If that doesn't raise suspicion, I don't know what will."

"We should have swapped excuses. It would have sounded normal if you'd said it." Hermione narrowed her eyes and set off down the corridor, Malfoy trotting to keep up.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he complained as they wound their way into the upper storeys of the castle. Hermione turned to her companion.

"Stop whinging. No one's going to find out. They're all eating and by the time they're finished, we'll be out of there."

"You _are_ becoming a bit of a rebel, Granger," Malfoy smirked.

"The things you drive me to do, Malfoy."

"Excuse me? You're the one forcing me to help you!"

"'Forcing' is a bit of a strong word. Try 'persuading' . . . Look, this is it. I didn't think I'd ever be going back up there," she muttered, stopping in the middle of a wide corridor on the upper levels of the castle.

"You won't if we can't guess the password." For a minute they stood together, staring at the gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Liquorice wands . . . uh, Sugar Quills . . . help me out," Hermione growled as the gargoyle refused to budge.

"Pumpkin Pasties . . . Cockroach clusters . . . mmm, this is making me hungry," Malfoy said, licking his lips.

"How about muggle sweets? Err, sherbet lemons . . . humbugs . . ."

"Humbug! What kind of name is that?" Malfoy snorted.

"What kind of name is Fizzing Whizbee? It's the same principle."

"Aww, am I insulting your precious culture, Granger?"

"Just concentrate on finding the password, Malfoy. We haven't got all day." The blonde boy tapped the gargoyle on the nose, matching its glare with a look of his own.

"We don't even know if the library's up there. It's just a weird shrine to Dumbledore now, everything's probably been moved out." Hermione gave him a strange look.

"A shrine to Dumbledore? Sometimes the most genius ideas tumble out of your mouth without you even realising it, Malfoy," she said with a smile, looking as if she wanted to hug him. He scratched his head with a confused expression on his face, but Hermione was already turning towards the gargoyle.

"_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."_ The sound of stone grating against stone echoed as the gargoyle inched aside, revealing the spiralling staircase behind. Hermione gave a grin before disappearing up the staircase, Malfoy following behind.

* * *

Granger's curly hair disappeared around each twist before he could reach her. He felt almost like he was chasing her, but she was always just out of reach. _Actually, when _didn't_ he feel like that?_ But when he reached the top, she was waiting for him, an excited look upon her face.

"You ready?" she asked.

"You know those portraits of old Headmasters? Well, what if they're still there? They could tell McGonagall," Draco said.

"Relax! They're in McGonagall's office. She moved them there for help. Don't you remember seeing them? You just concentrate on keeping an eye out and helping me find the right book, okay?" Draco nodded, motioning towards the door. Granger went first, opening the door slightly and peering cautiously through the crack she made, before striding into the room, Draco following her.

The room looked like a painting that had been left in the sun too long, faded and greying. Light squares marked the walls where the portraits of McGonagall's predecessors had hung, patterning the dark wood along with the dusty tapestries. The large desk at the centre of the room was bare, all the trinkets and strange magical objects had been packed away. The room looked aged and sombre, the only light filtering through a dusty window at the back. Several archways, hung with dark curtains, led off from the main office. Granger walked passed each one, holding back the curtains and peeking behind, using her wand to cast light before her.

"Look here!" she called behind her. Draco had been content to watch her but now he followed, sweeping aside the curtains and casting an orb of light to drift among the cobwebs nestled in the ceiling.

"Would you look at them all! I bet these books hold some of the most valuable secrets and spells known to wizardkind." Her face glowed eagerly, eyes scanning the spines of the thousands of books.

"Very touching," Draco muttered, wiping dust from a particularly large tome with barely legible script engraved in the leather binding. Suddenly Granger's face fell.

"There are so many. We'll never find the right book in time."

"We better get looking then." The room the books were in was not a particularly large space, but the number of volumes packed into each row of each shelf, placed closely together, with only a narrow gap between, was numerous. Granger could just about pass between each row, the edges of the shelves brushing her shoulders, but Draco had to edge sideways between the shelves. He sneezed on the dust motes, floating lazily in the air, highlighted by the light so that they looked like golden specks. He could hear Granger muttering to herself and the rustle of leather and paper. He glanced over to see her flicking through a book, that frown she wore when she concentrated really hard on something, lining her brow. The same frown she sported when they were playing chess.

Draco pulled out a black book and scanned the index before putting it back. He wasn't that interested in finding the book on Soul Servants but Granger had been so anxious to read it. Besides, it might prove useful for himself. Draco scanned several more books, picking at random, whilst Granger took a more organised approach on the other side of the room. Several of the indexes provided subjects that Draco had to struggle against reading, tempting his curiosity, but he always put them back.

Finally, he opened a modern-looking book and amongst the list of subjects the title 'Souls Servants and their Masters' jumped out at him. Draco looked up but Granger had disappeared into another row, he could hear her frustrated muttering. Flipping to the right page, Draco scanned it quickly, looking over his shoulder every now and then.

_**Soul Servants and their Masters**_

_**Introduction**_

_Soul Servants were most prevalent in the time of the Roman Sorcerers, those who were powerful enough to create such a complicated magical rite, and very few examples have been documented after the fall of the Romans. In modern society the idea of Soul Servants has been relatively shunned although the basic knowledge is still retained, though unfortunately not enough is still known for the process to be undertaken._

_Desired for their ability to provide a loyal service and follow commands without question, Soul Servants were popular among the Roman Sorcerers who feared betrayal and wished for servants that could not possibly deceive them, although Soul Servants are most well known for their compulsion to carry out every order their Master gives them._

_Such phrases as "Selling ones Soul" and "Soul Mates" derives from original understanding of Soul Servants._

_**Section one: The formation and abolition of a Soul Servant**_

_The creation of Soul Servants was perhaps the most coveted of the Roman Sorcerers' magic. The ritual surrounding the production of Soul Servants is now widely forgotten yet the basics are still remembered. In order to become a Soul Servant, a human must enter an 'Agreement' with their employer in which a magical bond is created for a pre-agreed annual or monthly payment or other such reward, paid to the Servant by the Master. This simple 'Agreement' was the only condition needed in the early creation of Soul Servants, therefore making the bonding an easily achievable thing._

_However, in this way great legions of soldiers were assigned a Master without knowing the consequences. With a word from their Master, these men were forced into battle, unable to desert or allow fear to hinder their fighting skills. Therefore the Romans were extremely successful in battle. In fact the old English spelling of Soldier was 'Souldier', respecting both the Latin origination and the traditional tale that soldiers were Soul Servants. But there were consequences to the excessive creation of Soul Servants._

_The bond between Master and Servant was shattered when one or the other died. The Sorcerers found that the loss of a large number of Servants due to death on the battle field and the consequential broken bonds created an instability in some of their minds that led to disastrous results. It was decided that, in order to avoid further Sorcerers losing their sanity, the magic involving the creation of Soul Servants would be altered so that only one Servant could be assigned to a Master and certain conditions had to be met._

_With this new bond, the Servant's and Master's souls were required to be matched before bonding could take place. Therefore it was not unlikely for a Sorcerer to bond with a lover or close friend with whom they had similar interests. _

_Other than death, the only way to abolish the bond between Servant and Master was for the Master to return the 'Agreement'. Normally the 'Agreement' was symbolised within an object with meaning to both the Master and Servant, often something as simple as a coin or piece of jewellery that both had made their mark upon. The bond between Master and Servant stemmed from the object of 'Agreement', affording a channel for the magic to take place. The Master then kept the object safe. This was of extreme importance as the object held the magic forming the bond and destruction of the object would lead to a severe shattering of the bond and often of the soul, which could often mean death or a severe degeneration in the mental and physical state._

_**Section two: The advantages of a Soul Servant and the strengthening of the bond**_

_When the bond was first formed, neither Servant nor Master felt particularly different. Some uses of the Soul Servant could take place straight away, such as the compulsion for a Servant to obey their Master and the ability to withdraw the Master's negative feelings through skin contact. However, as time passed with the bond in place and the more time spent in each other's company, the bond and the subsequent magic strengthened. This allowed for the Servant to feel the Master's feelings of anger, displeasure, hunger, lust etc. in order to best serve their needs. In the early days of bond formation the Master's feelings could only be felt from a close distance and very weakly, but as the bond strengthened so too did the notion of the Master's feelings and from a further distance as well._

_Not only was the Soul Servant able to detect their Master's feelings but the need to serve and protect intensified with each day. Although a Master felt none of these notions, if the bond was strong enough they could detect the whereabouts of their Servant and could tell if he or she was in danger. It has been documented in a few rare occasions that the bond between Master and Servant became so strong and the pair were so perfectly matched that they could predict each other's movement and thoughts._

_It is worth, at this point, mentioning the process of carrying out an order. It is documented that the order carried out was dependant on the interpretation of the Servant. For example, an idiomatic phrase was, although not always, interpreted idiomatically. This avoided great confusion but did provide a way of avoiding orders. If a Servant could train themselves to interpret a Master's order in a different way to the intention of the Master, then they could carry out the order in a different way than intended._

_Less well known of the advantages of a strengthening of the bond was the ability for a Servant to unconsciously serve their Master, even to the extent that– _

"Any luck?" Draco jumped and slammed the book closed before she could see over his shoulder. She looked at him suspiciously and he knew now why. She could _feel_ his anger. _Why had she never told him that she could feel his emotions? _Draco tried not to feel betrayed. He swallowed all anger down before she could guess it was directed at her, although he wanted to scream "_You lied! You lied!" _at the top of his voice.

"What were you looking at? Nothing dangerous, I hope?" Her face was all angelic innocence, making him grit his teeth.

"Just a wizarding Kama Sutra. You want me to show you?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and turned to the shelves.

"I've been through hundreds of books and not a single reference to a Soul Servant." She gave a sigh and rubbed her eyes. Draco wandered over to the exit, poking his head around the curtains. The light from the window had turned dusky, a greying blue.

"It's getting dark outside Granger. Lunch must've finished hours ago. We better go." He pulled the curtains aside to let her through but she hesitated.

"Just a few more minutes. I could find it still." Her big, brown eyes were imploring and desperate. Draco swallowed and shifted on his feet.

"Come on. We can come back another time." Granger sighed again and ducked her head beneath his arms as he held away the curtains. The light in the library winked out as Draco followed her. They were halfway across the room when Draco suddenly grabbed Granger and pulled her through the nearest archway.

"Malfoy, what the-" But he had covered her mouth, making sure the hangings they had dived behind were securely in place, and trying not to space out as the touch of Granger's skin sucked all negativity from him. He had crammed them both into a small alcove where Draco remembered a statue of Helga Hufflepuff had once stood. Chest to chest, Granger stared up at him wide eyed, but her eyes became even wider as fractured light spilled through the gap between the hangings and the floor and a muffled voice reached their ears.

"It's not the same as it used to be, Minerva. You should use this room again. It's perfect for its function," the voice of Professor Sprout piped up.

"It just doesn't feel right, Pomona." Draco recognised the voice of their Headmistress. He looked down at Granger; she was shaking a little and breathing sharply. He could tell she was verging on panic. To be caught now would mean both of them losing their positions. She met his eye and then shifted uncomfortably, pressing her back into the stone wall behind her.

Beyond the hangings, Draco could hear the shuffling of several pairs of feet, the scrape of chairs against the floorboards and the chink of glass.

"Another Christmas without Albus," McGonagall sighed.

"It feels like he'll walk back through the gates and take up his seat at any minute . . . Port, Minerva?"

"Only a little, Poppy." There was the chink of glass and the gentle glug of liquid pouring. "To Albus!" McGonagall said, a hint of sorrow in her voice, and another chink as glasses met in a toast and voices rumbled in consent.

"To Albus!" Voices began to chatter in mild conversation. Suddenly Slughorn's deep accent could be heard.

"Did you catch Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy? What's going on there, eh?" Draco looked down at Granger. Her eyes had widened and he could tell she was holding her breath. "Hermione Granger _has_ been acting strange of late. That outburst in my class! Well I can tell you, I didn't know quite what to say!"

"I can understand that she might be finding it hard to get along with Mr Malfoy but she asked me the strangest question back in September. She wanted to know about Soul Servants," McGonagall said, her dry voice stern. There was a low hiss of disapproval around the group of teachers. Granger closed her eyes and leant her forehead against Draco's chest as if she couldn't bear to listen to another word.

"What did you tell her?"

"Well, I thought nothing of it at the time and simply told her the truth but her reaction was quite disturbing. She took extreme interest in the fact I had texts on Soul Servants."

"That is strange, Minerva. Miss Granger asked me about the benefits of becoming a Headmistress and seemed greatly interested when I mentioned the Head's library." Granger's shoulders shook. Draco hoped she wasn't going to cry and give the game away.

"You told her about the Library, Filius!" McGonagall's voice sounded stern and Flitwick's shook a little as he tried to explain.

"It just slipped out. I didn't believe I would have to guard my tongue against our Headgirl! I'm sorry Minerva." McGonagall sighed.

"No matter, Filius. Let's not dampen the mood. Are you feeling well, Irma? You look a little pale." There was a pause and Draco could imagine all eyes fixing on the stony faced librarian.

"I believe we should be more wary of Miss Granger. She asked _me _if I knew of another library within the school. Of course _I_ denied any knowledge of such." Draco was certain that Madam Pince was giving Flitwick a sharp, gloating glare at that point. As soon as the librarian had finished talking all the staff broke into murmurs.

"It seems I have made a grave mistake. I thought I could trust Miss Granger."

"She's always been wilful and driven by curiosity. Don't hold that against her," the sweet tones of Professor Vector said. "Besides, she is hardly likely to imagine that the library could be found here and if she did, she wouldn't know the password."

"You're right, Septima. I will keep a careful eye on her from now on but let's not spoil the holiday spirit. Tomorrow I will set wards but for now let us enjoy one another's company. Stilton, Horace. It complements the port greatly."

"Don't mind if I do," Slughorn chuckled.

The staff of Hogwarts talked for what seemed like hours, remembering past times and chuckling together amicably. Draco's mind wandered to the teachers' suspicions about Granger but he emerged from his thoughts when his legs began to ache. His back was pressed against the curving wall of the alcove, forcing his neck to bend and a crick to form. Some inner sense told him that it was late and the sun had set hours ago.

Granger was still leant against his chest and her gentle breathing made him suspect she was asleep or at least pretending to be. Her chestnut curls tickled his chin. Draco sighed, trying not to wish the barrier of his shirt wasn't there to stop skin contect. He had enjoyed their week together over the holidays. They had done little but play chess and talk of things only half-seriously and always with a mix of insulting banter. Watching Granger as they played over the board, she gave the impression that she was at ease, yet Draco was sceptical. Often when they left the game of chess he felt like they were still playing, each measuring their own moves carefully, wary of a trap, always thinking ahead. He felt her dark eyes watching him, measuring his moves and planning her reaction and he felt himself doing the same. There was no trust between them, although he liked to believe they had managed to create a pretence of sorts.

He no longer tried to understand their relationship; it confused him even to try to reflect on it. Although he had the contract, sometimes he felt Granger held all the power. It disturbed him that he now knew she could tell what he was thinking, that she knew just how to handle his mood. He hated letting her have a hold over him but when his skin met hers there was such bliss, like floating in a kind of nirvana. Granger had been right; he _had_ wanted to hold onto his anger. It had been a familiar thing to him, something that he could always relate to. But without it, he realised, he could do so much more. He could focus, see the world through fresh eyes. Each time he touched her, the anger took longer to come back, until he was so used to peace he was desperate to hold onto the relief she afforded him.

She thought he was weak and she pitied him; he knew that given the chance, she would stab him in the back, yet still he hoped, _he prayed_, that somehow it would be different. _But if he had wanted that so much, why hadn't he shown her the book?_

Draco noticed that there was no longer the chatter of voices outside and the light that had spilled onto his shoes had been snuffed out. Had he slept? Shifting Grangers weight so that she rested on his arm, he quickly peeked through the hangings. The room beyond was pitch black and deathly silent.

"Granger. Hey, wake up!" He shook her shoulder.

"Hmm? I was dreaming . . ." Her eyes opened and as soon as she was aware of her surroundings she straightened, pulling away from him and knocking her head on the stone of the arch. "Ow . . . Are they gone?"

"I should hope so, the noise you're making." She glared at him and they both tumbled from their cramped position in the alcove.

"I can't see."

"I'd cast a light but I don't know whether McGonagall's set any wards yet."

"If she has we're stuffed either way . . . Shit, this is all _your _fault."

"Was that an oath, Granger? Tut-tut." He knew if she could see his smirk she would be furious.

"Well thanks to you, I'm now suspected by McGonagall. Imagine what she'll say if she finds out what's going on." Draco groped about for the door handle.

"It's nothing to do with me. You were the one that was asking dodgy questions." He felt Granger brushing past and the click of the door opening.

"This has to be my worst Christmas ever - spending it stuck in an alcove with you for hours. Ugh." They fumbled down the stairway, tripping over each other.

"Well, thank you. I _could_ say the same." They snuck across the hallways in silence, making sure there was no one around to notice them exiting the Headmaster's office.

"If McGonagall sets wards, I won't be able to go back and look for the book," Granger sighed. Draco paused. _Maybe he could give her the chance . . ._

"Why didn't you tell me you could feel my feelings?" Granger had continued walking along the corridor but now she stopped and turned back.

"What?"

"Don't try to cover it up."

"How do you-"

"I guessed. It wasn't hard. I can read your face like a book. So why didn't you tell me?" Granger swept around and walked off, storming across the castle. Draco followed after her, passing empty classrooms and the star filled sky from the windows.

"Hey, Granger!"

"Can't I have one little thing?" she cried as he finally caught up and spun her around. "I'm trapped. Trapped by you! Why would I have told you something when it seemed like you had everything to hold against me?"

"I thought we had an understanding."

"What's there to understand? You know everything now, everything! And I can't go back and find that book now." She leant against the wall and buried her head in her hands.

"It's not so bad, Granger." He patted her on the shoulder. _He wouldn't tell her just yet. See how she liked it . . ._

"Not so bad," she muttered, almost absentmindedly and then gave a bitter laugh. Then she looked away and wiped her eyes. "No, you're right. It's not so bad. We haven't had a bad time, have we?" Draco smiled.

"I think rebelliousness suits you, Granger. You seem to attract trouble." They laughed together, a strange sound. "Chess?"

"Again? We could play something else. Cards? Backgammon?" Draco pulled a face and Granger looked at him. For a second he wished he could tell what she was feeling as she could for him. "Thank you for coming with me," Granger said.

"Do I get a reward?" Granger raised her hand and touched his cheek. Nirvana. When she touched him he wanted to press every inch of his bare skin against hers just so that he could intensify the feeling.

Suddenly, without realising what he was doing, he kissed her. Their lips were barely touching but he could see her eyes grow wide. She flinched and broke away. When she looked at him, her eyes were filled with doubt and shame. There was an uncomfortable silence. _Does she hate me that much?_

"Chess then?" she said.

"Sure . . . we'll carry on with the chess." _Carry on strategising, plotting, watching each other's moves, lying to each other, hating each other?_

* * *

**A.N.**_ I just thought I'd explain for any that were confused that from Hermione's POV, things are described as she would, therefore I write 'Malfoy' instead of Draco and vice versa. I thought this would be an easy way to differentiate between POV's, although this might change when the two become friendlier towards one another. Sorry this update was late. I suddenly found myself inundated with coursework deadlines._

_Anna_


	7. Chapter VII

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter VII**

The snow fell heavily, like soap suds blown into the air, and the world outside turned a flurry of white, streaked with the green of the pines in the Forbidden Forest.

"Maybe she hasn't cast any wards yet," Hermione mused, watching a small drift of snow build up on the window pane.

"Just try and forget it, Granger. You're not getting back into the library and you know it. Try concentrating on something else," Malfoy said, glancing up from his book.

"It's not like you even helped me. If you'd spent more time looking for the text on Soul Servants than trying to improve your non-existent sex techniques then I wouldn't be sat here."

"Non-existent! I beg to differ." Hermione couldn't help smiling at Malfoy's indignant scowl and she no longer felt like passing the blame onto him. He was getting better at avoiding arguments. Maybe it was just because he didn't want to argue anymore or because he now knew her better. Just because he could avoid her reprimands didn't mean that she forgot. She stored away her frustration, reminding herself every now and then that Malfoy owned a part of her, a part he had no right to. _She wouldn't allow herself to forget._

"What are you reading?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the constant inner turmoil she seemed to experience at every waking moment.

"A book." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I can see that! Read aloud," she asked, leaving the window to sit nearer. "Just a little bit?" Malfoy sighed as if it were a huge inconvenience.

"_Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;  
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,  
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;  
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st."_

Hermione laughed, taking the book and reading the title, _A Collection of Poetry._

"That's Shakespeare! Hah, a pure blood reading _lowly_ muggle poetry, I didn't think I'd see the day!"

"My mother picked it up once. I guess she didn't realise it was a muggle book; she found it in the book store in Diagon Alley. Well, when she realised what it was, she threw it away . . . but I found it." Malfoy scratched his head awkwardly. "I was just curious. I've barely even flicked through the thing."

"So I can see," Hermione said, holding up the book up to highlight the ruffled and dog-eared pages that could only be a result of being read many times.

"Ok, so I read it a few times. For a useless race, you muggles can write." Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Literal magic can be replaced by different types. There's a magic in creativity that wizards and witches just don't possess," she muttered, letting the book fall open on a random page. "Edgar Allan Poe," she read.

"_But our love it was stronger by far than the love  
Of those who were older than we-  
Of many far wiser than we-  
And neither the angels in heaven above,  
Nor the demons down under the sea,  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee._

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."

Hermione sat back with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You know, Malfoy, sometimes you surprise me."

* * *

Draco couldn't sleep. Thoughts whirled in his head in a constant torrent without him being able to grasp and concentrate on a single thread. He was vaguely aware of images of his mother, snapshots of Granger, blurring through his mind, and sounds, like the faint scream of terror that had once been so loud but was now only a whisper in the back of his head, and a murmured insult that ended in amused laughter, like she no longer meant what she was saying. And over and over, in a constant loop, the words "_And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee._"

For once, he was keenly aware of how cold he was, of how lonely it felt to lie on his own. He imagined how much easier it would be to sleep with someone beside him to lend him warmth, soft skin against his own. He shivered underneath his copious blankets, trying to clear his mind. He was concentrating so hard that he barely noticed the shuffling of feet across the cold wooden floorboards until his blankets rustled and were tugged away from him. He gasped at the wash of cold air.

"What the-?" he yelled, struggling to sit up. He sank back into the bed when Granger wrapped a hand around his wrist. For once he ignored the blissful feeling and shook her off. "Granger, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" He scowled at her as she slipped into his bed, but his expression quickly turned to one of surprise as he looked at her face. Her eyelids were almost closed, giving her a sleepy expression, as if she were sleep walking, not quite seeing. Her appearance was extremely disconcerting.

"Granger? . . . Granger? . . . Hermione?" he called but received no response. Instead she sat atop him, hips against hips, and kissed his jaw. Draco's hands hovered inches from her waist, wanting to pull her against him, but at the same time he realised she didn't know what she was doing; she was asleep.

"Stop!" he ordered as Granger planted a kiss on his collar bone. She obeyed, pulling back a little. Draco looked up at her and wondered at the strange expression she wore. She was obviously asleep yet she gave the impression that she was listening to every word he said.

"What are you doing? Speak!" he said, more in frustration than because he thought his command would be obeyed.

"Yes, Draco Malfoy? What is it you want me to say?" He stared up at her in surprise. It was not the voice of Granger, stern, commanding, brash, but calmer, detached . . . reasonable. He wondered why she called him by his whole name.

"Granger? Are you awake?" It was strange to talk to someone who seemed to be sleeping, yet she hovered over him, attentive, listening closely.

"No. If you wanted me awake, I would be awake." Draco looked up at her, wild curly hair and pale skin luminous in the moonlight. _He didn't want her awake?_

"You don't sound normal, Granger. What's going on?"

"My consciousness is subdued, this is my subconscious. You _need _me and I am here to help you." She bent to kiss his neck again but he held up his hand to stop her.

"I don't understand. Are you a different person? Do you know what you are doing?"

"I am Hermione Granger. I wish only to help you." Draco suddenly became tired of her confusing speech and grew impatient.

"Get off," he commanded. She slipped away, kneeling beside him. Draco suddenly missed the human contact. He groaned in frustration, knowing he would get hell in the morning but making his decision all the same.

"Just . . . just lie down next to me and . . . and _continue_ sleeping." She lay down, closing her eyes completely, the sound, the feel, of her gentle breathing almost lulling. Even so, it took him several minutes before he could feel himself drifting off to sleep. Without thinking he reached out and rested his hand on her arm. He knew she would kill him when she woke but the bliss was worth it. For once he slipped easily into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Hermione dreamt. At first it was a relatively normal dream, the type she always had. She, Ron and Harry were running along the castle's corridors, laughing and being pelted with custard pies by Peeves. They rushed round a corner, pursued by the cackling poltergeist . . . and then, suddenly, she was alone in a stony hallway with the intense feeling of longing or even lust. She wandered across the cold flagstones, looking for someone and although the scenery had not changed she felt she was somewhere different to the comforting surroundings of Hogwarts.

She thought she heard Malfoy's voice calling her and when she looked at the portraits on the walls she saw his face in each one. He looked startled, concerned even, with a ruffled look she had rarely ever witnessed. She asked him what was wrong but he couldn't hear her. Instead he ordered her to do something . . . to sleep? She was already asleep!

The corridor darkened and torches on the walls flared into being. A woman in a luxurious pale blue silk dress that flowed all the way to the floor swept passed her, her heels making a sharp tapping sound on the stone. Hermione did not see her face, just the back of her head. She had long blonde hair that shimmered in the fire light. The woman marched along the corridor as if no one could stop her, her dress flaring out with each step. Not knowing what to do, Hermione followed, trotting with a quick pace to keep up with the long-legged woman.

The corridor was silent but for the tap-tap of heels and the swish of expensive cloth, yet the hairs on Hermione's neck raised as if someone was watching her. At one point the woman paused to decide which corridor to take at a fork. In the ensuing silence, Hermione swore she could hear a faint cackle that deepened into throaty laughter . . . but she could not be sure.

It felt like she followed the woman for hours, twisting endlessly along a maze of windowless hallways until she felt sure they were deep beneath the surface of the earth. The further they walked the dimmer the torches became, as if they were giving up on the will to burn, until there was only the faintest glimmer from each, a single burning ember every fifteen feet or so. Hermione could no longer see the woman but she could hear the swish of cloth and the tap of heels. Then . . . then there was silence.

Hermione stopped by a torch, its light so faint she could barely see. Before her was darkness, behind her the torches had also winked out. The woman was gone. Or Hermione assumed she was gone until she heard a shriek and a deep voice bellow:

"How dare you! How dare you!" There was desperate pleading, cruel laughter, soft whimpering and furious shouts. Hermione thought she heard the slither of metal and the woman beg.

"One!" There was the thunk of metal slicing through flesh and bone and a chilling scream of pain.

"Two!" The voice that counted seemed almost gleeful as the woman screamed again and the metal carved.

"Three!" The final crunch, the last whimpers. The only sound was the pitter-patter of drops, like rain against rock.

Horrified, Hermione looked around and just as the last torch winked out of existence she spied a portrait on the wall. Malfoy stared from the frame with solemn eyes into the darkness, as if only he could pierce the black veil to see the horror that lay behind. This was not her dream, it was _his._

* * *

Hermione woke in a cold sweat and sat up, staring into the twilight of early morning.

"Merlin!" she exclaimed, burying her head in her hands, trying to dispel last remnant of the dream from her memory. "What the hell!" she yelled again as she looked around the room. The jumble of clothes carelessly tossed upon the floor and the disarray of school books and rolls of parchment told her that this was definitely _not_ her room. So she wasn't surprised when Malfoy stirred beside her and gave her a shove with his foot.

"Move up," he murmured before rolling over. She grabbed him by the collar of the shirt he had slept in and shook him.

"What am I doing in your bed, Malfoy?" she almost screamed. He opened his eyes fuzzily and yawned.

"Innocent! Innocent! Don't ask me," he said, pushing her off and sitting up, holding his hands up in a placating manner. "You sleep walked in here. That's all!"

"I've never sleep walked in my life!" She knew she was sat in Malfoy's bed yet the chill winter air made her loathe to jump from the warm covers. Malfoy was looking at her curiously, smoothing his hair with a hand.

"You don't remember last night?" he asked. Hermione narrowed her eyes and edged away uncomfortably. His cheeks were pinker than usual, he looked healthier, brighter, his grey eyes less clouded.

"No. Should I?" Her arms wrapped around herself protectively.

"No, not really. I told you. You just walked right in here and got in the bed. What was I supposed to do? You're just as pushy in your sleep as you are awake."

"You could have just turned me around and pushed me towards my door."

"Don't tempt me."

"I know what I was doing in here," she said suddenly, slipping from the sheets and testing a toe against the cold flagstones. She withdrew it with a hiss. His eyes sharpened and a little colour drained from his cheeks.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"I-I dreamt. You _wanted _me here. I _had_ to come here. And then . . . and then . . . Your mother . . ." Suddenly she found herself tumbling onto the cold floor. "What did you do that for?" she complained, rubbing her grazed elbow.

"I don't know what you think about my mother but you can forget it. Get out. Go on." She was forced to leave, an objection in mind that would not leave her lips.

* * *

"Are you over it?" Granger said, sticking her head round the door. It was strange that she had never set foot in Draco's bedroom without an intensely wary feeling before, but now, overnight, that barrier had been broken and she wasn't afraid to enter his 'domain'. She had given him an hour to calm down and now offered a mug of tea as if nothing had happened. There was a time when he would have been raging for the rest of the day. He sat on the bed, buttoning his shirt and shrugging his shoulders. "Because there's something that has occurred to me." Draco looked at her with a steady gaze, one that challenged her to enter. She held it and won, marching in and thrusting the mug into his hands.

"I woke up this morning feeling the best I had in years," he muttered, moving up so she could sit down beside him. "Now I feel like shit."

"I hope it's for shoving me out of the bed. Look, I think I'm coming up in a bruise." She stuck her elbow under his nose and waved it for emphasis. "You know while you were feeling so good, _I_ was having _your_ nightmares." Draco looked at the floor.

"Sorry about that."

"About what? The bruise or the nightmare. I didn't _see_ it as such, just . . . _heard_ it." She shivered involuntarily and shook her head. "Anyway, no matter what you say, I _know_ that I was only sleep-walking because of you. I can't explain how I know. Obviously it has everything to do with _my _soul."

Draco thought back to the night before, trying to remember the extract he had read from that book. Hermione had interrupted him half way through but he could remember part of the last sentence. _Less well known of the advantages of a strengthening of the bond was the ability for a Servant to unconsciously serve their Master, even to the extent that . . . What was the rest? _He just couldn't remember.

"So what if it is?" he muttered grumpily. Granger rolled her eyes.

"The thing is that every time I fall asleep and you want something, I could get into a lot of trouble, especially when school is back on. What if you get hungry? I could be found wandering the halls trying to get to the kitchens."

"'What if' a lot of things," Draco said seriously.

"'What if' a lot of things," Granger repeated, returning his grim glance. "I suggest that you take my wand at night and lock me in my room. I don't know if I could use my wand asleep but we better not risk it."

"Are you sure you can leave such a big responsibility to me?" Draco asked only half sarcastically. Granger sighed.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" There was silence for few minutes as they both weighed the new development."I know you're sensitive about your mother," Granger began, feeling Draco shift uncomfortably. "But she's always there, in your head." She raised her hand as if she were going to place a palm on his forehead but lowered it again with a jerk. "I want to help you but I can't. I can't when she's always up there." _I wish only to help you._ That's what she had said, last night. The part of her that was controlled by her soul, her subconscious, wanted to help him, _had_ to help him. But the other part of her, the _awake_ part, did she really want to help him or did she have an ulterior motive? Draco considered this whilst listening to Granger.

"Listen, Granger, you don't need to know. You don't need to know everything." She gave him a look that begged to differ and glanced around the room.

"Just . . . if you ever-"

"Don't be so soppy, Granger," he interrupted before their conversation could become any more clichéd. "It's fine. Everything's just fine." They both gave each other a look that said 'everything was far from fine'.

* * *

"This is the key to my room." She placed the golden key into his hand and looked at him with an unreadable expression. "And here's my wand," she sighed.

"Maybe I should just keep you locked up in there forever," he grinned.

"Don't even try it," Granger scowled at him. "I'm serious."

"Relax. I'll let you out as soon as I wake up." Granger looked at him scathingly.

"You normally get up at about eleven. Set an alarm . . . eight at the latest. It _is_ your fault after all."

"Are you sure you want to be locked up in your room? We could just . . . I mean-"

"No! . . . No, Malfoy, it's fine. It's better this way . . . It's not like it's forever, is it?" she said so quietly he almost misheard. He looked away.

"No," he mumbled, with no intention of giving up Granger's soul. "Are you going to bed now?" Granger looked out the window at the dark sky and nodded. He followed her up the stairs to her room, stopping outside. She sighed. Draco noted that she seemed hesitant to allow him to lock her in and didn't blame her.

"Ok, don't leave me in there forever."

"A bit of trust goes a long way, Granger," he teased, shooing her into her room.

"Don't lose my wand, Malfoy," she said, disappearing behind her door. Malfoy tucked the wand into his pocket and put the key in the lock.

"Have you locked it?" Granger asked through the door. Although Draco knew she was just on the other side of the block of wood, she felt distant. A tightening in his chest made him worry. He stuck the key in the lock and rattled it, making sure the mechanism did not actually click into place.

"It's locked," he lied.

"Good." Her voice sounded sad, or maybe it was simply because it was muffled. He turned to leave. "Malfoy? . . . Goodnight," she said. He muttered something along those lines, disappearing into his own room and hating himself for his deceit.

He lay in his bed, awake, for over an hour, thinking the same thing in his head over and over. _Come back to me._ And it worked. She slipped into his bed as boldly as she had done the first time, but this time he was waiting.

"It worked," he muttered.

"I came, as you called, Draco Malfoy." Draco sat up.

"You know, I like you better than Granger. You don't witter on, nagging about something I did two weeks ago."

"I _am _Hermione Granger," she offered, sitting beside him.

"Your conversation _is_ a bit lacking."

"I only want to help you, Draco Malfoy."

"You've said before. Do you think the real Granger would murder me if she knew what I was doing?" he mused.

"I am Hermione Granger," she said. "But undoubtedly my waking conscience would find offence."

"Great. Just lie down next to me. I sleep better when you're here. Oh, make sure you go back to your room before your _conscience _wakes up."

"You want to gain my trust yet you constantly find ways to undermine it." She spoke it quite plainly yet there was a hint of the real Granger in what she said.

"Will you take my hand, Granger?" He held his hand out and she took it. "There, see? I didn't _tell _you to do it. I didn't order you. But you did it."

"Your point is unclear, Draco Malfoy." Draco sighed but didn't take away his hand. _Nirvana_.

"Just lie down, Granger. Lie down and let me sleep." She huddled under the covers and rested her head on his shoulder. Draco smiled. He knew he shouldn't, but he smiled.

* * *

**A.N**_**. **__I think I owe a big apology to everyone reading this story. I have often promised regular updates and I know that this chapter is ridiculously late. For the next couple of months updates are going to be a bit irregular but by the time July comes around I should be over my exams and have plenty of time to finish this story off. Please hang on until then._

_I apologise for the poetry. I know it's a bit random but I just wanted to give Hermione a point of likeness with Draco to help develop their relationship. Plus I really wanted to include that paragraph from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. Thanks again for all the support._

_Anna_


	8. Chapter VIII

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter VIII**

He called her Hermione; the other one, her subconscious. He had to decipher between the two, they were so different, and Granger seemed too harsh a sound to associate with his new bed mate. Hermione was gentle, quiet, understanding, everything Granger wasn't, everything he needed. She knew when to speak and when to listen, when to touch him, when to let him hold her.

Sometimes it was hard, hard to stop her. After all, she wanted to fulfil _all_ his needs and sometimes he really wanted her to. Her hands and lips were so soft against his chest, his face . . . But he knew he could never go so low. A small voice still worried what Granger would do if she found out, a small voice that grew louder every day.

* * *

"Is it me or is Hermione _actually_ holding a conversation with Malfoy?" Harry looked up from the cauldron and turned around, following Ron's gaze to the back of the classroom where Hermione sat laughing. He frowned seriously.

"That's not possible. They can't be in the same room for longer than five minutes without getting into an argument," he muttered.

"Looks to me like they're getting along _just_ fine," Ron growled. At that moment Hermione bent over her own cauldron to stir it and Malfoy looked in their direction. Noticing two sets of steely eyes on him he winked slyly and gave them an oily grin. Ron turned back around and snorted furiously.

"Slick bastard. He thinks he's so great. Hermione better know what she's doing." Ron continued to mutter darkly under his breath for the rest of the lesson. Harry wondered if Ron was just in a sore mood because their grades in Potions were suffering now that Hermione had become Malfoy's potions partner. But looking at the pair, _something _had changed over the holidays. Malfoy actually looked . . . healthy. And Hermione looked tired, not weary, just as if she hadn't been sleeping properly. After class they walked back to the Gryffindor common room together.

"Are you ok, Hermione? You look even more tired than you did yesterday. I thought you're supposed to recuperate over the holidays. You're not over working are you?" Harry asked as they tried to extract themselves from the crowd of pupils in the hallway all leaving afternoon lessons to relax after their first day of school since coming back.

"I'm fine. It's just these bloody nightmares," she said, rubbing her forehead as if just the thought of them gave her a headache. Harry was taken aback, one because Hermione never swore, no matter how mild the word, and two because they had been through a lot of terrifying things together and she had never once complained of nightmares.

"Nightmares? Harry's the one who's supposed to get the nightmares," Ron said, nudging his best friend. Harry grinned, glad that that part of his life was over.

"Oh no, they're not mine," Hermione said as matter-of-factly as if it were a normal thing to say. She gained some unsettled glances from her companions.

"Are you sure you're alright? Sometimes the things you come out with . . ."

"Honestly, Harry, I'm perfectly fine. Just, you know, this _soul_ thing is a lot more complicated than I thought." Hermione's voice had dropped to a whisper even though one glance around could have told her not to bother; the hallway was deserted. Both Harry and Ron stopped in the middle of the corridor. Hermione took a few steps before turning around in confusion, wondering where her companions had got to.

"Malfoy's not bothering you, is he? Because if he is we could get some dung bombs and-" Ron began.

"Oh no," Hermione beamed, grinning victoriously. "I _told_ you I could handle him. I'm perfectly in control now, just as it should be. You didn't doubt me, did you?" Ron and Harry were quick to shake their heads.

"No, no, of course we knew you could handle that slimeball . . . it's just that, if you're having nightmares then something must be going on." Hermione sighed as if she were talking to toddlers who kept failing to grasp the point.

"I told you, Ron. They're not _my _nightmares. They're Malfoy's."

"Malfoy's? You're having Malfoy's nightmares," Ron said, looking at her as if she were crazy. "How the hell did that happen?"

"Well it all happened when I woke up in his bed-"

"What?" Hermione looked at her friends expressions and at least had the humility to blush.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not what you're thinking, ok? It has to do with the soul. Oh, it's too complicated to explain now. Anyway long story short I sleep walked into his room and _actually_ I feel sorry for Malfoy, being woken up like that."

"You . . . feel sorry for _Malfoy_?" Harry and Ron stared at her in disbelief.

"Yes. And he was quite gentleman-like . . . even though he did push me out of the bed . . ."

"We _are_ talking about the same Draco Malfoy, aren't we?" Harry muttered, wondering if the boy in question had drugged Hermione or something similar.

"Don't be like that, Harry . . . Anyway, you remember that I told you that when I touch him I sort of absorb all his negative thoughts and feelings? Well, it turns out that if he's asleep then I absorb his negative thoughts and feelings that are resembled in dreams. So that one time that I . . . slept next to him, well _I_ was the one to have the nightmares. Except that now I get them every night, even though I'm not touching him. I don't know, I wish I understood how this Soul Servant thing worked," Hermione sighed. "He has such horrible nightmares that when I wake up I feel like I've had no sleep at all."

"Aww, poor Malfoy. I bet he dreams about his favourite suit getting ruined or his pocket money getting halved," Ron teased.

"We're not the only ones who've been through hell and back because of Voldemort," Hermione suddenly snapped. "I'm beginning to understand why he acted like such a brat all these years."

"Are you _actually_ sticking up for Malfoy?" Harry said, mouth open. Hermione paused.

"Of course not. He had every choice to act like a decentperson but he chose not to. But he's not the same person anymore." Harry and Ron gave each other a worried look as Hermione began to march towards the Gryffindor portrait, head held high, completely convinced she was right.

* * *

"Where were you?" Hermione sighed at the question and dumped her bag, throwing herself onto the nearest sofa.

"I was in the Gryffindor common room helping Ron and Harry with their Transfiguration essay. They had all Christmas to do it and they left it until the day before it has to be handed in. Typical!"

"You should let them do it themselves. They're like babies those two, calling for mummy every time they get into trouble."

"I do not act like their mother! . . . But the whole House does seem to have gone wild since I've left. Suddenly everyone's a Fred or a George. Maybe I should pop in there more often . . . before any furniture gets smashed."

"Merlin, it must have been awful living with _you_ for six years! I almost feel sorry for the bunch of idiots." Hermione sighed and looked over to where Malfoy was sat, crouched over, pen scribbling. She couldn't remember ever seeing him doing homework in the Common room before.

"What are you writing?" She leaned forward and Malfoy snatched away the parchment.

"Nothing! Nothing important." Hermione pulled a face.

"Aww, come on. Let me see." She made to grab the parchment but Malfoy danced away, holding it behind his back.

"Seriously, it's private, ok?"

"When has anyone's privacy ever mattered to you, Malfoy," Hermione laughed, trying to reach behind Malfoy's back.

"Hermione, won't you quit it!" Suddenly they both stopped, Hermione wearing a smug grin.

"Hermione? Since when have I been Hermione, _Draco?_" she crowed, placing particular emphasis on his name.

"A mistake. Don't worry Mu- . . . Muggle born, it won't happen again." Suddenly she snatched the parchment from his grip and began to read out loud before he could react, her face growing whiter with every word.

"'_She just walks right on in, Hermione, the other one. I could lie there all night with her but it's not quite the same. Maybe if I could wake up in the morning with her beside me, then the feeling would last longer. But I can't risk Granger finding out.'"_ She looked up sharply, eyes blazing, Malfoy's face pale.

"What is this, Malfoy?" she said, waving the parchment. "Have you – have you-"

"Just – just try and calm down, Granger. It's not what you think," Malfoy murmured, holding his hands up.

"I trusted you. I – I thought we . . . Did you . . . did you _touch_ me? Oh God, I feel sick." The parchment fluttered to the floor as Hermione held a hand to her stomach.

"No! No, I didn't touch you. Not . . . not in that way. Granger . . ." He reached out to subdue her but she snatched herself away.

"Don't touch me. Stay the fuck away from me. I can't believe . . . I can't believe you would do that! I thought you had changed! Oh God, oh god," she moaned, kneeling on the floor and clutching her stomach. "Why would you do that?" she wailed. Malfoy knelt beside her and tried to touch her but she knocked his hand away.

"I said: don't fucking touch me!" You make me fucking sick!"

"I just wanted – I just wanted to feel better."

"That's it, isn't it? It's always about _you_! No matter who you walk all over." Hermione tried to stand, to run away from him, _she had to get away_, but a boiling anger in her stomach forced her back to her knees. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she was so _furious_. Whilst battling the biting pain in her veins she wondered why Malfoy was so angry, why she was feeling such strong emotions from him. It was _she_ who had been betrayed. How _dare _he! She'd never felt so much anger, so much hate. It seared her insides.

"I _hate_ you!" she screamed. A pile of books on the table flew into the air and burst apart, pages tearing across the room. "I hate you!" The table splintered into a million shards of wood. Malfoy threw and arm over her head, small splinters peppering his skin.

"Granger, what are you doing?"

"I'm not doing it! Just leave me alone. Don't ever talk to me again!"

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry."

"Shut up! I put my trust in you."

"I don't want to lie to you anymore. Yes, I didn't lock your door at night and I let you . . . I also found the book, the book you were looking for. I didn't tell you because I was angry at you. But you practically know everything that was in there already. That's it, I swear. There's no more. Now we're even." Hermione blinked, trying to take in everything he had just said. _He had read the text on Soul servants!_

"Now we're even? _Now we're even?_ You stupid, idiot. I don't think there's a single brain cell in your head. You don't have a fucking clue." The shock of the new revelation had quietened the anger in Hermione's stomach enough for her to stand and walk out of the door, with one last sneer in Malfoy's direction. But once out in the dark corridor beyond she collapsed against the wall, sobbing into her hands.

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was dark, the only light the last glimmers coming from the dying fire. It was midnight but Harry and Ron had stayed up to finish their game of Wizard Chess, which had lasted a lot longer than both expected. Harry glanced at the clock and stretched.

"If Hermione was here she would have told us to go to bed hours ago." Ron grinned at his friend's comment.

"Just like you to suggest going to bed when you know I'm about to win."

"You are not about to win," Harry complained. The portrait door clicked and both friends looked up to see Hermione walking into the room. She stopped as she saw them and sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"Hermione?"

"You two should be in bed. It's late."

"What's the matter," Harry asked, concerned. He couldn't see her face clearly in the gloom but many years of friendship told him that something was very wrong.

"Nothing, Harry. I'm just going to sleep here tonight. I don't think I can go back to the Heads' tower tonight. I might end up ripping Malfoy's ears off." She laughed at the notion cruelly and waved her wand, conjuring a blanket and pillows.

"What's the prick done this time? If he's hurt you, I swear, I'll kill him," Ron growled.

"Not if I do first," Hermione muttered, sitting down on the nearest sofa and shaking out her blanket.

"Seriously, Hermione, if you don't tell us what he's done, we'll go and ask him ourselves."

"No! I . . . Look, you were right, ok? I should have never trusted him. I thought he was a different person underneath all the . . ." Hermione sighed and shook her head. "I don't know. He ruined what little trust I had in him . . . but don't worry. I'm going to make him pay." She clenched her fist and banged it against her knee resolutely.

"How're you going to do that, Hermione? Can't you _see_ yet, he's just walking all over you?" Hermione smiled at Ron, an eerie expression in the darkness, the firelight casting angry red sparks in her eyes.

"I'm going to break whatever's left of his measly, shrivelled black heart. Break it right in two." She gave a manic laugh and Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"Hermione-" Harry began, but she quickly interrupted.

"You two should be getting to bed. I'll be ok. It's warm here by the fire," she said with a serious frown. Ron and Harry said nothing, giving a look of confusion before disappearing up the stairs and muttering to each other. Hermione watched them go and sighed. They thought she was crazy. All she knew was that she was going to make Malfoy _pay_.

* * *

Draco got up early. He hated waking early but he knew, if he wasn't careful, Granger would be in and out without him even knowing. He dressed wearily. Every muscle in his body ached. He didn't know if it was because the nightmares had returned or because every cell of him screamed in guilt. And then he sat in a chair in the common room, facing the door, waiting. It wasn't long before she stuck her head round the frame, saw him and froze.

"Granger, come in," he ordered, before she could flee, and she had no choice but to obey. She was still dressed in her uniform from the night before, crumpled and creased. Her hair was a mess, frizzed up around her face and wild like her eyes. She stood, mouth slightly apart as if she wanted to burst into a tirade of insults.

"Are you going to accept my apology?" he asked and then swore under his breath. _Great start, Draco!_ he thought to himself. He waited for her snappy retort but instead she just smiled.

"Maybe I overreacted just a little bit." Draco's mouth almost fell right open. Granger moved further into the room, looking at the newly fixed table and books. "Seriously, Malfoy, did you smash up the table?" Draco stood and tapped the wooden surface that had not long ago been little wooden chips. They were lucky he was good at a _reparo_.

"A surge of magical energy strong enough to smash a whole table? Not since before I got my wand. No, _you_ did it and you know it."

"I didn't. I was feeling _your_ anger." Draco shook his head.

"I was never angry. I have no right to be. But it's understandable that you were furious."

"I'm not the one that's _supposed_ to be angry."

"So I am, am I? You're such a hypocrite, Granger."

"No I'm not _supposed_ to be this angry. I've never _been_ this angry before . . ." She suddenly paused, shook her head and fixed the smile back on her face. "Let's forget about that." Draco looked at her suspiciously. _Why was she so calm?_ He didn't want to open his mouth in case he messed up again but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was waiting for him to turn around so that she could bury a knife in his back.

"Granger, you don't have to pretend. Why don't you hit me? It might make you feel better." He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to come as Granger crossed over to him. Instead she set a hand on his arm, making sure their skin never met.

"I don't want to hit you, Malfoy." He looked into her eyes. _Damn, she was a good actress!_

"Yeah, right. Come on, Granger. We both know that's not true." Suddenly she had cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. He closed his eyes at the skin contact, feeling himself float in nirvana.

* * *

As Hermione closed her hands around his face she gave an involuntary shudder, hoping Malfoy didn't notice. Her mind was instantly flooded with feeling of remorse, guilt, shame and she felt like jumping in delight. _She wasn't the _only _one having a bad time! _But there wasn't any anger. _There should have been anger. _Hermione frowned and Malfoy mirrored her expression, trying to pull away. _She couldn't lose this small advantage! _

Swiftly she kissed him. He almost stumbled back in surprise but she gripped his arm to stop him breaking away. The kiss only lasted a few seconds but to Hermione it felt like a life time, battling feelings of disgust with that breathless, tightening flutter in her chest. As she pulled away he followed her, stealing another kiss before looking at her in surprise, grey eyes almost hurt looking.

"I thought that's what you wanted?" she said in the sweetest voice she could muster. Suddenly Malfoy was looking at anything but her, shuffling his feet anxiously.

"I don't know," he muttered.

"But you kissed me before," she pouted. He looked at her sharply before his eyes darted away again. They had both unconsciously decided to forget that event.

"I know what you're trying to do, Granger. You're trying to get back at me, aren't you?" Hermione cursed herself silently for acting too fast, her brain working quickly to gain control of the situation. _He's not an idiot, _she'd give him that.

"So I'm a bit angry, Malfoy. You lied to me and took advantage of me and let me go on believing I could trust you." She sighed, pushing down the anger that was welling at just remembering. ". . . But you did apologise and you told me the truth in the end and it made me realise . . . it made me realise that you're not so bad."

"Not so _bad_?" Malfoy laughed.

"I just want to help you." She grabbed his arm again to force him to look at her, hesitantly brushing hair from his eyes. She knew that the skin contact would make him more malleable to her charms. ". . . And then you'll give me my soul back?" Malfoy shook her off and gave a bitter laugh, turning to walk away.

"I knew that you wanted something. I'm so stupid."

"Of course I want my soul back, Malfoy. What did you expect? It's my _soul_. But I want to help you too . . . I like you and I want you to be happy."

"I can't remember the last time someone said that to me," Malfoy whispered. Hermione smiled and wound her arms round his neck.

"See? Enough of the lying. Let's start again." Despite his negative feelings flooding her mind, it felt good when he placed a hand either side of her waist and pulled her to him.

* * *

"So how's the hate crusade going?" Harry asked as they took their seats in Transfiguration.

"Just fine, Harry," Hermione said with a bright smile. "I saw him this morning and it all went to plan." Ron laid a hand on Hermione's arm.

"Hermione, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, Malfoy's been on the edge more than once. He's almost murdered a few people, you know? Don't you think that this is a bit dangerous?" Hermione laughed and patted Ron's shoulder.

"Malfoy's not _dangerous_! Sure he's a bit messed up but he's not going to hurt me."

"He already did, Hermione," Harry said sombrely. She scowled at her friend.

"Well, not again. Don't you think I can pull this off? Don't you think I could make him fall in love with me?" Ron shifted uneasily.

"Hermione, you're not the most . . . seductive of people."

"Seductive? What do you mean by that, Ronald?"

"Err, I mean, you don't flirt, do you?" Ron shrank under Hermione's heated glare.

"You don't think I could if I wanted to? . . . I mean, he already likes me, I know it."

"Malfoy? Like _you_? But you're like chalk and cheese!" Ron laughed. Hermione stood, a stormy expression on her face.

"Harry, will you please swap seats with me. I don't think I can stand sitting next to Ron any longer without punching him." Harry sighed, pushing his books along the bench and swapping seats with Hermione.

"I didn't mean it like that," Ron whined as Hermione sat heavily in Harry's seat.

"I think the most important question here is: 'how far are you willing to go to destroy Malfoy, Hermione?'" Harry suddenly said.

"How far? I couldn't tell you, Harry." Both boys looked at her as if she'd given entirely the wrong answer.

* * *

**A.N. **_Again I have to apologise for the lateness of this update. I just hope that everyone hasn't lost interest in the story and thanks to everybody who has hung in there._

_I also wanted to bring up the subject of the title to this story. I've had a few friendly comments about the title. I'd like to know if it is worth changing it to something like just __**Selling Souls**__. Any comments/ideas would be really appreciated, thank you._

_Anna_


	9. Chapter IX

**A.N. **_Yes, it's official! After a year of no updates, Selling Souls is back! I have reedited the entire story but haven't changed anything major so you don't have to reread. I have also changed the name from __**Selling Souls Is A Bad Idea**__ to just __**Selling Souls, **__but most of those who have read my previous A.N.s will have picked up on this already._

_I'd like to thank all those people who have read, subscribed to and reviewed my story. Without those little reminders that people were still reading Selling Souls, I may have given up entirely on this story. So I hope you enjoy chapter nine and I can definitely promise chapter ten won't take a whole year to update :P_

_Happy reading, _

_Anna_

* * *

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter IX**

"Merlin, Malfoy, you look like shit."

"Where do you learn these _foul_ words from?" he asked, all innocence in his grey eyes, despite the dark circles underneath. "The Hermione Granger I used to know would never swear so blatantly! And are you . . . _sneering_?" Hermione could feel the corner of her lip pulled up as she taunted him, a crude imitation of the Draco Malfoy that had once teased her for so many years. Hermione fell in step beside the tall blonde, ignoring the instant sensation of suspicion she could feel pouring from him. On the outside they were all jokes and banter, but on the inside there was still a subconscious war raging between the two.

For two weeks now she had been on her hate crusade to break Malfoy's heart. It had started off tense. After all, he had expected her to hex him into oblivion that morning when she had faced him about his betrayal, so when she had kissed him instead he was instantly suspicious of her motives. She had no reason to like him, only to hate him. So it had taken many long hours for Hermione to forge even the smallest false sense of security within him. She had started off with cheerful banter; something they had been slowly perfecting in that uneasy alliance they had had before he had betrayed her trust. She never let their conversations wander towards anything serious, in the fear that her raw emotions would surface and she would give the game away.

But she knew the banter wasn't enough. Soon she would have to do something to feed the spark she had felt ignite in Malfoy the day she had kissed him, the spark she could tell he was battling with whenever she was near. She didn't know what it was: lust? Affection? Dependance? All she knew was that it was the key to Malfoy's heart and she _had_ to find a way in.

"So? Are you going to tell me why the immaculate Mr. Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, is looking like he was dragged out of bed by a horny hag this morning?" Hermione watched him struggle not to grin. It was his automatic reaction whenever she said something that contradicted her 'oh-so-innocent' nature, something she tried to do more and more often now because she knew it amused him. Anything to set him at ease, to make him think she was no longer a threat.

"You've _changed_, Granger," he accused, trying to look disappointed. "For your information, I didn't sleep well last night. But you're right about the hag. If I remember correctly, _you _were banging on my door this morning, screaming something about being late and needing an alarm clock. Damn muggle contraptions."

"Despite being one of the most annoying things ever invented, they actually do their job well. I'll get you one for your birthday." She smiled as his face turned to a look of pure horror.

"Granger, I will get down on my knees and _beg_ you not to buy me one of those . . . _things._"

"That would be an original sight . . . slept badly then, did you?" Malfoy waved a hand, looking at anything but her.

"It was nothing really," he mumbled, although they were both thinking the same thing: _nightmares_.

Sometimes, at night, when she lay awake plotting her perfect revenge, picturing Malfoy's face crumple from the realisation that he had been tricked all along, she could feel the horror he was experiencing in his dreams seep across the gap between bedrooms, from his mind to hers. She knew exactly what he was experiencing too, since he had inflicted those visions on her when he had let her unknowingly sleep beside him all those nights. She reminded herself of this often, so her resolve wouldn't weaken; how he must have laughed behind her back, lying to her face the whole time, embarrassing her, _using_ her.

However, Hermione mused, if the nightmares were returning fully fledged, she could use this to her advantage. He had been so desperate to be rid of them once that he had completely betrayed her, how desperate would he be this time? Could she use his desperation as the next step she needed to make to feed the spark, to make him love her?

"Well you better wake up. McGonagall's waiting for us and she's already got her beady eyes set on me ever since the Headmaster's Library fiasco. We don't need to give her more excuses to remove us from our positions," Hermione said, as they walked side by side down the corridors of Hogwarts. "You could at least straighten your tie, look _presentable._" Malfoy stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, forcing Hermione to halt alongside him.

"You're talking to _me_ about looking presentable. Have you _looked _in the mirror recently?" Hermione frowned thinking he was just throwing her another lazy insult about her untameable hair. But before she knew it, he was reaching up and using his shirt sleeve to sweep across her cheek with a surprisingly tender motion. For the briefest of seconds his skin touched hers and she felt his good intentions behind the movement, her eyes meeting his and widening in shock.

_That was it_. She felt no pain, or anger, no bad memories or snide thoughts lurking in Malfoy's mind for her absorb as their skin met. For once his consciousness was blank of negativity. All his energy was focused on _her._

"You had a smudge of dirt . . . on your cheek," Malfoy mumbled, dropping his hand and looking away embarrassed.

"I – I had Herbology this morning. We were potting . . ." she let her sentence trail off as she began furiously rubbing her face for any remainder of dirt, trying to forget the curiously tender expression on Malfoy's face. "Hang on! Why have you been letting me walk round the castle covered in dirt all this time without bothering to tell me?" And with that they were back to their banterous game. Malfoy laughed and they headed round the corner towards McGonagall's office.

* * *

Draco sat stiffly in the hard backed chair in McGonagall's office, glancing over at Granger and trying not to imagine how cute she had looked with that smudge of dirt across her face, how her eyes had widened as he'd brushed a finger across her cheek. Had she sensed something shocking about his emotions? Had she stumbled across some memory he hadn't wanted her to? He went through the same set of questions every time their skin touched, wishing he could understand what it was Hermione saw and felt. From her previous reactions, he knew it was far from pleasant.

Sometimes he wondered if it would not just be easier to hand Granger back her soul, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. She now knew too much about him. If he gave her back her soul, with no longer a hint of control over her, she could completely destroy him with what she had seen and felt when she took away his negative emotions and memories. He couldn't trust her enough to believe she wouldn't do that. Besides, the way she had gotten over his betrayal so quickly, and had even _kissed_ him, made him all the more wary.

"Mr. Malfoy? . . . Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall's dry tone dragged Draco from his reverie. He blinked owlishly at his Headmistress, before putting on a charming grin, watching McGonagall's creased face fold up even further. "I know I may _bore_ you, Mr. Malfoy, but as Head Boy, I'm afraid it is one of your duties to. Listen. When. I'm. Talking," she ground out, using the same voice she used to scare the first years into never being late for her class again.

"As I was saying, your duties have been fairly undemanding so far. I've been pleased with your correspondence and cooperation with the Prefects, and the rota you made for the night patrols has turned out to be very successful. However, I believe that the pupils of the school need to actually _see _their Headboy and girl taking a more hands on approach. After all, the whole point of having a Headboy and girl is to create an interface between staff and students, to make the students feel that they too are valued and can contribute towards the organisation of the school. I fail to see how that is achievable, when it is hard to actually see the Headboy and girl's contribution to the daily running of Hogwarts." Draco glanced at Granger, who returned the baffled look. Were they being told off or praised? It was clear neither could quite tell, yet it was also apparent that McGonagall was about to ask something big of them.

"So I am handing the responsibility of planning and hosting the Spring Ball to the two of you." There was a moment of silence, broken by the dry hacking of McGonagall clearing her throat, clearly expecting a deluge of enthusiastic comments. Instead she was met by the horrified stares of Draco and Granger.

"You _what_?" Draco finally blurted. McGonagall set her stern gaze on him.

"Organising the Spring Ball, Mr. Malfoy. And I would _expect_ a little more enthusiasm from the both of you."

"The Spring Ball? But Professor, the Spring Ball has always been organised by volunteers. I don't think they _need_ our input," Granger added rather more diplomatically. Neither wanted to say what the other was really thinking; that the Spring Ball had always been a bit of a joke, not to mention a colossal failure in recent years. Especially after the Yule Ball in their fourth year, which set the precedent for Hogwarts' balls to a new high. No one took the Spring ball seriously, and that meant anyone who planned it became a part of the joke too.

"I'm not sure that they have any say in the matter, Miss Granger. And nor, I'm afraid to say, do you. Now I would like a full agenda on my desk this time next week, including budget plans, lists of volunteers, colour schemes and the like. Ask Professor Vector for details, she is normally left responsible for the Spring Ball budget. Any questions?" Draco stared at her with a look of horror. "No? Then I shall leave you to get planning. You have much to do. I look forward to seeing your ideas." With that McGonagall made a shooing motion with a wrinkled hand and Draco found himself rising from his seat and shuffling out of the room, followed by an equally stunned Granger.

Once outside the office, the door safely clicked shut behind them, Draco turned to the brunette beside him.

"She has _got_ to be kidding! Mother of Merlin, what the hell was she thinking saddling us with this?" Granger glanced at him as he spoke, her almond eyes dark.

"I know _exactly _what she was thinking. She's trying to keep us busy, out of trouble."

"Out of trouble?"

"Well she already suspects me of trying to find out about Soul Servants and the Head's library. She probably thinks I want to dabble in Dark Magic! Not to mention all the staff obviously noticed both of us leaving Christmas dinner early over the holidays. They all probably think we're up to something together. I expect McGonagall's just trying to keep us too preoccupied to cause further trouble. Otherwise she might have to dismiss _both_ her Headboy and girl and that's an embarrassment I don't think she's willing to face at the moment."

"So we're expected to waste our time organising some stupid event most people are going to ditch for a party in the room of requirements anyway?" Draco snorted. He took a moment to reflect that his old self would have been astonishingly angry at having been given such a demeaning task, yet all he felt now was mild irritation. In fact, Granger looked angrier than he did.

"I can't believe the old Witch doesn't trust me! _Me_, of all people!" she growled, then shook her head, forcing a smile onto her lips. "Well, I guess there's not much we can do about it. So tell me, Malfoy, how good are you at _colour schemes_?" she said with mock enthusiasm.

* * *

Malfoy pushed the large double doors open with a heave, a grand creak echoing around the newly revealed room. Hermione stood at the threshold, staring into the cavernous expanse.

"_This_ is it?" she muttered, stepping into the giant room and looking at the smudges her footsteps left in the thick layer of dust. "_This_ is what we have to work with? It looks better suited for a Halloween Ball, not a _spring_ celebration." She stared up at the high arched eaves above, carved from greying stone and hung with thick layers of cobwebs.

"If we get a few House elves in here to do the job, I think it could scrub up pretty well." Hermione shot him a furious look.

"_House elves_?" she snarled.

"Ok, ok, First Years then . . . Look, _you're_ the one that said the Great Hall wasn't good enough." Hermione shrugged her shoulders, conceding. She _had _argued that they'd need a different room to use for the Ball than the Great Hall. Despite the fact she'd rather do anything than plan the Spring Ball, she knew she needed to improve McGonagall's view of her and she could do that by making a complete success of her task. But Hermione knew she'd have to change everyone's opinion of the Spring Ball first and the best way to do that was mix it up, make it new and exciting. Hosting the Ball in the old familiar Great Hall was hardly exhilarating. So she'd requested a different room and had been provided with . . . this. A long-forgotten cavernous hall, piled thick with dust and crumbling faded tapestries.

"I guess it has . . . potential," Hermione said, watching Malfoy stare horrified at the coating of dust his expensive shoes had picked up. She gazed up at the large stained glass window at one end of the hall, which cast shards of light across the floor in a splash of much needed colour.

"It looks like something out of the medieval ages," Malfoy murmured, looking at the fluted columns framing the room and the balcony running around the edge, which would prove a perfect view to look down upon the dancers from above. Hermione glanced around, trying to envision the room filled with students in fancy ball gowns.

"You know, Malfoy," she said, beaming at him, "that's not a bad idea. We _do_ need a theme after all." Her voice bounced around the room, echoing back on them. Hermione suddenly realised how alone they were and how Malfoy was looking at her strangely.

"Why did you kiss me?" Hermione felt colour rush to her cheeks and suddenly a million things in the hall were far more interesting to look at than meeting Malfoy's eyes. "That morning, why did you kiss me? You were supposed to be angry."

"A medieval theme. Yes, that sounds perfect. Don't you think it would be perfect?" Hermione rambled, trying desperately to change the subject, doing the perfect job of appearing flustered. In truth she was secretly pleased. If Malfoy was asking her about the kiss, then that meant he was _thinking_ about it. Maybe he wanted to kiss her again. Maybe her plan was finally coming together.

Malfoy smirked at her.

"You're such a prude, Granger. Why don't you just admit you _wanted_ to?"

"I'm _not _a – a . . . _prude_." He laughed and Hermione felt herself scowling. _I'll show you, Draco Malfoy . . ._

* * *

Hermione took a long breath, leaning her forehead against the door to Malfoy's bedroom. She could do it,she _knew_ she could. She just had to be strong. She reminded herself why she was going through with it all . . . for her soul. _That_ was the important thing. Without knocking, she pushed the door open, peering into the darkened room. Only a glimmer of moonlight lit the way for Hermione yet she managed to find a path to the bed without stumbling over the sprawl of clothes and books littering the floor. She inwardly laughed at his messy ways as she slipped beneath the green and silver covers. They were silky cold against her skin, causing goosebumps to break out along her arms.

At first she felt wrong, like she was betraying some form of trust, but then she reminded herself that Malfoy had done that long ago. She huddled further towards the source of heat, Malfoy's hot body. It was warm under the covers and the bed sheets had a faint male smell to them. She resisted burying her head into the pillow and inhaling. Instead she curled up next to him, pushing her back against his chest, trying to ignore the thrill that shivered down her spine. What better way to make him fall in love than to give him what he had wanted all along? He, after all, had wanted someone to sleep next to so badly he had willingly lied to her.

"Hermione?" he half-mumbled, half-sighed, instinctively wrapping an arm around her waist. Hermione tried to steady her breath, telling herself that this was not what she wanted; it was only _a_ _means to an end_.

"If you want," she purred, turning around to face him. He opened his eyes blearily, wondering if he was dreaming or not. His tousled blonde hair stuck out at odd angles, making him look almost vulnerable in the dim light. Hermione cursed herself for noticing those little details about him. She didn't _want_ to find his messy room amusing and she certainly didn't _want_ to feel the need to smooth his hair down when it stuck up like that.

"_Granger_?" he said, startled. He sat up suddenly, the sheets slipping from his bare shoulders, his grey eyes suddenly shockingly silver in the moonlight. "What are you doing?" She gave a protesting moan, stretching out towards the warmth.

"Call me Hermione. I like that better, _Draco_," she whispered, trying to sound as seductive as possible.

"It is you, isn't it, Granger? I mean, you _are _awake?"

"Yes." She stared up at him with big, round eyes, feigning innocence and delighting in seeing confusion written all over his face.

"Then why-"

"You ask so many questions. Can't you just let me sleep in peace?" She wriggled further into the duvet and closed her eyes but Malfoy was having none of it.

"Seriously, Granger, what are you up to?" She rolled onto her back, sighing, brown curly hair splayed across the pillow. He hovered above her, startled and confused. She wondered what would happen if she pulled him down on top of her just then, but refrained, telling herself she'd rather anything but _that._

"Don't you enjoy my company?" she asked, hands brushing against his bare chest, tracing the tense muscle there.

"Depends what kind of mood you're in," he mumbled, finally giving in and lying back down, a mixture of peace and lust evident in his expression.

"I'm not going to hex you in your sleep," she laughed, reaching out and kissing his shoulder, letting him find nirvana and knowing he would be more pliable that way. She felt him relax and pull her closer. She could not feel much negativity coming from Malfoy, which again puzzled her; perhaps he was too sleepy to think about the terrors in his head. She could only pick up the slight feeling of anxiety. It was nice for a change, but it left her to wallow in her own emotions. She could feel her anger and betrayal seeping through, lending conviction to her actions.

"Are you playing games," he sighed, his breath tickling the base of her neck.

"Not at all," she lied.

"I hope not." His lips ghosted across the smooth skin of her neck and she tried desperately hard not to react to his movement. Hermione hadn't bet on how comfortable she would feel in his bed. She could feel her eyelids quickly drooping and Malfoy's steady breathing sooth her. But sleep did not come before she heard Harry's previous words echo through her head: _how far are you willing to go to destroy Malfoy, Hermione?_

* * *

Malfoy was almost as surprised in the morning when he finally came to his senses as he had been the night before.

"Granger, what the hell?" he said, sitting up and rubbing his head. "I thought I was dreaming. What are you playing at?" She hid her head behind the covers, trying not to show any signs of embarrassment or regret, anything that would alert Malfoy to the fact that she'd rather be anywhere than in his bed.

"I didn't feel like sleeping on my own, ok? Don't you feel like that sometimes?" She knew he did, otherwise he would have never made her sleep-walk into his room that first night. He jumped out of the bed, edging away from her and swallowing nervously.

"But that doesn't mean you can just run to the nearest person!"

"Don't be such a hypocrite, Draco."

"Draco? _Draco?_ What's all this about, Granger?" Hermione wasn't surprised. She knew he would be suspicious of any kindly actions she took towards him; after all he'd done, he expected her to hate him. But she had to make progress of some sort and calling each other by their first names broke down a barrier they'd had up since first year.

"I thought I told you to call me Hermione." She sat up, smiling at him innocently. "Who's the prude _now_, Draco?"

"W-what?" Hermione couldn't help but inwardly chuckle at the sight of the Slytherin Prince. He looked like a cornered animal, desperately trying to find the traps that had been set for him. _Look who has all the power now, Malfoy_? she felt like crowing victoriously. "Is this some kind of game?" he mumbled.

"No, not a game" she lied. "I'm just giving you what you want." She knew he wanted _something_. The absence of pain she afforded him was obviously a part of that, but there was something more, perhaps the comfort of having someone nearby, perhaps the need to possess someone, or maybe just the need to fuck. Hermione purposely made herself think of it in those terms, _just fucking_. Malfoy wasn't capable of anything more intimate than that, she told herself, feeding fuel to the angry fire in her stomach. He was a selfish creature that didn't care about others.

"This isn't like you, Gr- . . . Hermione," he almost whispered, something akin to sadness jumping from his consciousness to hers. It irritated Hermione that he thought he _knew_ her. She decided to ignore his last comment.

"Come here," she ordered beckoning him towards her, back to the bed. She felt a thrill of nervousness and excitement when he stumbled dazedly in her direction, obviously fighting some inner turmoil between his emotions. _He's so weak,_ she mused as he inched closer. But then he stopped, running a hand through his tousled hair almost tiredly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Go back to your bedroom, Hermione. Get ready for lessons. It's already eight O' clock." She had no choice to obey him, the magic of the Soul Bond kicking in at his command, but she made sure she passed extra close to him as she swept out of the room.

"Whatever you want, Draco," she murmured sweetly, leaving nothing but her scent to occupy Malfoy's thoughts.

* * *

Draco sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He suddenly felt that he was dealing with a Hermione that was a lot more dangerous than the one who had displayed blatant hate for him. This new, _affectionate_ Hermione confused him. Was she just playing with him? Toying with his feelings? Or did she really just want to be close to him? Perhaps the Soul Bond was creating instincts in her that she would normally not even feel, such as the need to be close to him. Draco desperately wished he knew what was real and what was caused by the bond. He'd be able to make much better sense of things that way.

He knew that if she _was_ playing with him, trying to entice out some sort of _feelings_ in him, then he should strike back, action for action. A familiar part of him that he had lately started to ignore told him that if he made Hermione fall in love with him then he'd have complete and utter control over her in every single aspect. But was that what he really wanted?

_What do you care what she thinks?_ The old Draco sneered. _Take what she offers, if she's stupid enough to offer it._

Draco shook his head to try and clear it and began to dress with slow deliberate movements, all the while consumed with confusion and doubt. What did he even think of Hermione? Once, what seemed a long time ago, he had despised the stuck-up bitch. She had resembled everything he had never had in life; loyalty, trust, bravery, someone to stand by him and look out for him. Whenever she had stuck up for her snivelling friends, he had hated her even more, wondering what he had ever done to never deserve someone to stand by _him_ just as fiercely, with just as much love. Instead he had lived through pain, betrayal, and fear unimaginable, always having to bear a constant feeling of helplessness.

But somewhere along the way he had stopped hating her. She had seen right into him, gained glimpses of his most painful memories and she had offered him sympathy, even kindness at times. She hadn't run away in terror of what was really inside him. When he had first realised he had complete control over her, he had never thought he would come to _appreciate_ her presence in his life. And she had sucked all the anger out of him too, she'd made him whole again. If he gave in to this new Hermione now, would he lose all that?

* * *

**A.N. **_I know that planning a Ball is used in quite a few Hermione/Draco stories but I needed something to keep the story rolling and I figured, seeing as the whole aim of Selling Souls originally was to tackle a well used story plot and see if I could make something from it, adding another cliché wouldn't matter. I based the Ball room on Camelot's Great Hall, shown in the recent TV series __**Camelot, **__only without all the plants. Unfortunately, despite hours of internet trawling, I could not find one single good picture of the hall. For those of you who've watched Camelot, you'll know what I mean._

_However, I apologise if this chapter is a little confusing or vague, I'm still trying to remember where I was headed with this story. Please let me know if you find it confusing or unrealistic, so I can improve it._

_Also, __**I am STILL looking for a reliable beta. **__Any offers?_

_Anna_


	10. Chapter X

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter X**

Draco was not in the best of moods. He'd woken up dazed and confused by Hermione's advances, the motives for which he'd spent the entire day pondering, much to his Professors' frustration, and now to top it off, he was having to sit around a table of squabbling students as they tried to decide what type of _sandwiches_ were best to serve at the Spring Ball. The Ball Committee had been Hermione's idea and Draco had agreed just to please her, but now he was severely regretting it. From across the table the Patil twins scowled at their Headboy and girl. The twins had been in charge of organising the event before McGonagall had handed all responsibility to Draco and Hermione and they were not pleased to have their glory snatched from them. They had used the entire hour the Committee had been assembled so far to argue with all Hermione's suggestions.

Draco glanced at the other students gathered around the table with a mixture of disgust and pity: most were sixth, fifth and fourth years, who obviously had political aspirations within the school and were helping out to score 'points', perhaps to get a chance at Prefect or Head the following year. The ball was open only to fourth years and above so fortunately there was a lack of overly excited lower years, but Colin Creevey, enlisted as the official photographer, made up for this. He twittered on blithely about the need for good lighting and some mysterious muggle contraption called a _tripod_, which conjured strange images in Draco's imagination. The Headboy gained the slightest sense of smug satisfaction when he saw Hermione had dragged along her two _pets_, who sat and glowered at the opposite end of the table, obviously hating every minute as much as Draco. He had heard the Weasel complaining as they had all filed into the spare classroom to take their seats and had chuckled when Hermione had snapped an admonishment at the red head.

"So I was thinking, rather than sandwiches, we could have a more _traditional_ spread; something that fits with our theme," Hermione offered. There was angry muttering from the Patil twins and Padma stood up.

"Well _we_ had already decided on a famous Witches and Wizards theme. We think it is something far more people can _relate _to." Padma then launched into a speech about the suitability of their previously chosen theme. After ten minutes and with no sign of the girl stopping, Draco casually leaned over to Hermione.

"Are we going to talk about what happened last night," he whispered into her ear. Hermione kept her eyes carefully trained on Padma, nodding every now and then in the pretence that she was still listening.

"So _now_ you want to talk? Funnily enough you sent me away this morning," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"You didn't want to talk!"

"Oh? What _did_ I want to do then?" She was smirking, he was sure of it. Although they were keeping their conversation to mute whispers that could hardly be overheard, Draco couldn't help but feel like every eye was focused on them. He was surprised to feel his cheeks redden.

"I don't know. I can't tell what you want anymore."

"I don't think you've ever known, Draco . . . Thank you Padma, that's quite enough," Hermione suddenly said, interrupting the girl. "I don't care if you've already bought your dress, or that you'll look positively _darling_ dressed as Circe; the theme is a medieval one and that is that. No more whining on your part is going to change that fact," Hermione snapped in a perfect imitation of McGonagall. The Committee members all stared at the Headgirl in shock, most having never heard her speak so bluntly. Where had the ever courteous Hermione gone, Draco suddenly found himself wondering.

"I need a break," Hermione sighed. "Five minute break everyone? And then maybe afterwards we could actually _decide_ on a few things, like flower arrangements for one . . . Come with me," she muttered to Draco, standing and striding towards the door. He followed her past the glaring Patil twins and watched as the Weasel called Hermione's name and she simply retorted with a '_not now, Ron!_'.

Once out in the corridor, Hermione rubbed her temples and leaned against the wall.

"Wow, Draco, you were _such_ a help in there," she drawled sarcastically. "You let me do _all _the talking. It is a joint project, you know." The blonde Headboy ignored her.

"You're only going to get in more trouble if McGonagall finds you speaking to the volunteers like that," Draco murmured, standing beside her.

"Since when did you care?"

"It seems you're in an even worse mood than me," he said. Hermione sighed with a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry. I just can't stand listening to them twitter on anymore." She gave a laugh. "I mean it really is ridiculous, isn't it? Themes and flowers and _sandwiches_. . . Anyway, you wanted to talk about this morning?"

"I . . . well it's just . . . it doesn't really seem like you . . . to do_ that_, that is."

"Maybe I don't feel much like myself anymore."

"Is that my fault?" Despite himself, he felt a pang of guilt when Hermione looked at him with her deep, sharp eyes.

"Perhaps."

"Is it the – the Bond?" Even now he hesitated in bringing up anything to do with her Soul, fearing a confrontation. "Is it making you do things you don't want to? Because if it is-" Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"No, it was my own decision. I thought that maybe . . . it doesn't matter." Draco wanted to reach out and shake her, look into her big eyes and see what was really going on in her thoughts. Suddenly he realised he wanted to _know_ her. He wanted to understand what was making her angry and cure it, he wanted to hold her and tell her he was there for her. But he couldn't. He couldn't even _touch _her, not when it only caused her more grief, no matter how pleasant it was for himself. Draco reeled from these unbidden thoughts, trying to push them away and telling himself they weren't really true, that they were just a reaction to the pent up frustration she'd been causing him lately.

"Maybe it does matter," he muttered. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not _playing_ at anything. You can't take me seriously, can you? I thought maybe you'd realise if I showed you in a way you'd understand. I've heard your reputation after all. I thought you wouldn't notice me if I didn't . . ." The words had rushed out of her pretty mouth so fast he almost hadn't caught them, but then they registered and something clicked. She was looking at her feet, a wild blush colouring her cheeks, her sentence fading into nothing. Did Hermione Granger just admit she _liked_ him? Had she clambered into his bed because she'd been trying to tell him she liked him in a way she thought he would understand?

"What?" he blurted.

"I can't get _away_ from you. You're there all the time, in my head," she growled. "Your emotions, _my _emotions, I don't know what's what anymore. And . . . I don't care. I just want you to _understand_ what _I'm_ feeling." And there she was: baring her soul to him . . . or rather she would be if she hadn't already given it away. He could see the vulnerability clear on her face and wanted nothing more than to protect her.

"You can feel my emotions, right?" he said. She nodded slowly, obviously wondering where he was going with this. "Then tell me what I feel. What am I feeling right now?" Her cheeks coloured even further and she looked away.

"I don't know."

"You don't know or you're scared to know?"

"It's not that simple."

"Then I'll tell you. I don't want to hurt you, Hermione. I want-" But there were things that just couldn't be said out loud, not with the history between them, so instead he used actions. He leant in and it seemed she'd been waiting for him to do so for a while, because she was already waiting, chin tilted upwards, lips slightly parted, the dark lashes around her eyes lowered to brush her cheeks. And for once it wasn't a stolen kiss, or rushed or angry. It was . . . _perfect._ Their bodies melded together and her fingers wound their way up his neck to brush through his hair. The world stopped and it was just the two of them, locked together in an embrace that could have lasted forever.

When they finally parted he thought he heard her sigh in satisfaction.

"I think five minutes has long passed," he murmured in her ear.

"Fuck the Committee," she said, in that very un-Hermione-like manner she'd been adopting lately. He didn't care though because she had already brought him down into another kiss and any thought for the rest of the world had disappeared, the soft touch of her lips erasing everything he'd known before and carving a new meaning.

* * *

This would be her stage, the perfect tool for the perfect plan.

Hermione couldn't help smiling to herself as she turned a slow circle around the recently cleaned ballroom, admiring the fluted columns stretching above her like arched tree trunks. Perhaps the room would fit the Spring theme better than she had originally thought, she mused, her footsteps tapping a hollow pattern against the flagstones. Despite her efforts, the cool, empty air did nothing to stop the buzz of thoughts in her head; thoughts of the Ball, of Malfoy, of kisses and revenge, anger and lust. And all the while she could feel a presence in her head, alien feelings that didn't belong: _Malfoy. _With a shaky breath she sighed.

"You are in control, Hermione,"she whispered to herself. "They're_ his_ feelings." Hermione didn't want to admit it to herself but she was scared. Perhaps she'd been scared all along and never realised, but now it swam in her stomach, icy cold. The kiss had brought it to the surface; it had brought a _lot_ of things to the surface. She was beginning to doubt whether her whole plan was a particularly good idea. But she _needed _it, she needed an ideal to cling onto, she needed her revenge on Malfoy. Nothing else made sense any more.

Despite the fear, Hermione still smiled. She was proud of the progress she had made with Malfoy that morning. She had put on an act so convincing she'd surprised even herself. It had been so easy to pretend she liked him, that she was even desperate for his attention. But it was more than that that made the corners of her mouth tug up; perhaps it was the echo of his feelings still reverberating in her head. She began humming to herself, as she forced her mind onto other things, trying to envision a successful Spring Ball, the dancers weaving around her. The doors behind her groaned on aged hinges, startling her.

"We heard you humming," Ron greeted, shuffling into the room. "I'm surprised you didn't break the windows," he teased playfully, offering a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Hermione scowled at him, less than pleased to have her peace disturbed by her friends. She shook her head to the offer of beans and span away, walking underneath the curving vault of the balcony, her fingers running across the grainy stone of the columns.

"Blimey, the placed scrubbed up well, didn't it?" Ron continued, picking out a handful of beans and holding them up to the light to examine them with an expert eye. Hermione hummed a stony agreement, glancing over to see Harry standing by the door, leaning against the wall. She gave him a quizzical look, which he returned with a nod in Ron's direction.

"I was going to ask you something at the meeting," Ron wittered on, shuffling nervously. "But you didn't-"

"I don't come back. Yes, I know. Are you here to tell me off, Ronald?" She weaved through the columns, deeper into the hall so that Ron had to raise his voice to be heard. When she looked back over her shoulder, she could see his face, a brilliant bright red.

"No. That's not it. I just wanted to ask . . . well, we'll have to have dance partners, won't we?" Hermione paused at Ron's words. She'd already thought about this; she'd even considered making it a part of her big plan. She turned and walked back to face a stuttering Ron.

"I suppose we will, yes."

"It's just . . . for the Bay's Ball it was too late . . . So I thought, I'd ask-" In his nervousness, Ron grabbed a handful of beans and stuffed them in his mouth before giving a choking wheeze. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Ron, if you insist on gulping them down," she scolded, patting him on the back.

"Spicy spinach flavour," Ron explained, doubled over. He took a few deep breaths, straightened and chewed. In a few quick seconds his face faded from scarlet to a sickly green hue. "And that is definitely rotten egg flavour!" Covering his mouth with both hands, Ron gave Hermione a panicked look before sprinting for the door, retching the whole way.

"Do you have to be so disgusting, Ron?" Hermione called after him, feeling slightly nauseous herself.

"Merlin, Hermione! What is your problem?" Harry peeled himself away from the wall and began stalking towards her. "Every five minutes you have a go at Ron for something."

"Is it my fault he eats like a pig?" Their angry words echoed around the hall, bouncing off stone.

"Ron's just being Ron. He's _always_ been that way and you've never had a problem before. He's not doing anything wrong. It's _you_." Hermione stared at Harry before laughing.

"Is this because I didn't turn up to the second half of the meeting? I was busy, ok?" she tittered.

"No!" Harry hissed. "It's not ok. The Hermione I used to know wouldn't walk out of her _own_ committee meeting and never come back. We were sat there for an _hour_ waiting for you, whilst you were off doing Godric-knows-what with Malfoy. That's not what you do, Hermione. It's not _you_. You're not the same person anymore."

"Maybe I don't want to be that person anymore," Hermione snapped. "Maybe I'm sick of being walked all over. I'm sick of people laughing at me and thinking I'm an easy target. I want to _prove_ I'm better than that. I'm _stronger_ than that."

"And you think you can do that using this ridiculous scheme against Malfoy? I never thought I'd say this, but you should leave Malfoy alone. Whatever he's done, he doesn't deserve to be pulled into your twisted games just for your sense of satisfaction."

"That's not what this is, Harry. He stole a part of me. He's in my head, always in my head. I can't _think_ anymore. I've got to show him I won't just let him walk all over me like that." Harry sighed.

"It's like an obsession to you, Hermione. It's not healthy. You're pushing us all away. You're already losing Ron and if you keep up the way you're going to lose me too." Hermione blinked at Harry in shock. "Just give up. Can't you see it's not doing you _any _good, this stupid mission of yours," He begged. "Malfoy's not _worth _it." Hermione gazed cooly at the black haired boy with a small smile on her lips until Harry had the impression she hadn't been truly listening to a single word he had been saying. Finally she broke the silence.

"You're right Harry . . . How's Ginny, by the way? I haven't seen her lately."

"She's – she's fine, I guess," he stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. Hermione's smile deepened.

"Good," she muttered. "That's good to hear." With one last look she swept past him and towards the door. If Harry had muttered a goodbye, Hermione had failed to hear it. Ideas were ticking through her head, ideas of the ball, the hall, Malfoy and Harry. Yet despite these distractions, Harry's words had still struck deep. They filled her with a bubbling anger that she was worried would overtake her.

It was only when she was back in her own common room that she allowed herself to breathe deeply once again. She smelt the exotic scent of spices that all Malfoy's clothes seemed to carry as she walked through the portrait door. He stood as she entered but she interrupted before he could speak.

"I want you to kiss me, Draco." There was a smile on his lips, a hint of amusement.

"Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason?" She touched him when he approached, wanting to feel the person beneath the clothes and sarcasm. For some strange reason, she expected him to crumple or fall back under her touch but instead he pressed closer, muscle and bone and beating heart, like a rock she could cling onto. Perhaps she was obsessed, perhaps it was the only way she could deal with the situation she was in, but it made her feel in control.

"You make me stronger," she whispered, burying her head against his neck, unsure what she meant by it or whether it was even true.

When they kissed, she thought she realised what it was Malfoy felt when her skin met his. Inside the kiss she couldn't feel much of anything but a weightlessness, a freedom from her own thoughts, the heat of something beyond herself, but also at the very centre of her being. It was intoxicating.

Later, they lay side by side on the sofa. She curled up beside him, listening to his steady breathing until she was sure he was asleep.

"You are in control, Hermione,"she whispered to herself. "They're_ his_ feelings." In the semi darkness of the night she could almost believe it was true.

* * *

**A.N. **_Another very late chapter, so I feel I have to apologise. I am always hopelessly bad at writing half a chapter in good time and then becoming distracted by other matters, or uninspired, or I just forget about the chapter all together. Anyway, here it is._

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I think the story has passed the 100 review marker, which is a first for me :D! It always makes my day to receive a review and I try to reply to every review I get. If I haven't replied to you then I may have just simply missed you out by accident. Thanks also to everyone who favourited this story :)_

_I have had a few people saying they don't like this slightly evil Hermione. Without spoiling anything, I just want to reassure you that it doesn't last forever, but there are definitely going to be a few twists around the corner._

_Finally, a quick thank you to those who very kindly offered to beta for me. I did promise a few people that I would send this chapter to them to be beta read but I thought that I had left the update so long that it would be better to post this chapter straight away so no one would have to wait any longer._

_Anyway, please let me know what you thought of the chapter,_

_Anna_


	11. Chapter XI

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XI**

Hermione let the silk slide through her hands, running like water across her skin. She traced a finger across the detailed embroidery and smiled.

"I didn't think you'd go for green, Hermione," a voice interrupted.

"Me neither," Hermione mumbled, dropping the skirts of the dress and turning to Ginny, who was herself admiring a blue dress with gold trim.

"It is of the finest quality," the shopkeeper said, bustling over in a flash of silk and brocade. "Made by the best dress-elves in all of Paris. Their little fingers do the most detailed of stitching, you see."

"I'm sure," the head girl responded, glancing over the long rows of dresses, all in a multitude of colours, and feeling hopelessly lost. "But I don't think it's my colour."

"Nonsense," the woman trilled in her French accent. "Green perfectly suits you, ma chérie! You will look _divine_. You simply _must_ try it on."

"Well it _does _suit the theme," Ginny said with a shrug to her friend as the two of them were shepherded into changing rooms.

"Thanks for coming with me, Ginny," Hermione called through the thin wall, as she peeled off her school uniform, listening to the rustle of clothes as Ginny did the same in the neighbouring booth. "You know what I'm like when it comes to dresses."

"It's good to spend some time with you. I've hardly seen you this year, you've been so busy. And now organising the Ball the top it off!" _That's only half of it, _Hermione thought to herself, pulling the soft material over her shoulders and casting a spell that would tighten the laces at the back. She could still hear Ginny struggling with swathes of silk so she leant against the wall of her changing room to wait.

"Has Harry asked you to the Ball then?" There was a pause.

"No . . . Not yet." _Was there a hint of anger in Ginny's voice_? Hermione mused. "I understand that for a long time he was scared that he could lose me, or that I would lose him, but now there's no danger I can't understand why he's still being so distant," Ginny sighed.

"Don't let him make you wait forever," Hermione advised. "Show him that you're tired of waiting for him to be ready."

"How do I do that?"

"Simple. Go with someone else to the Ball. I'm sure there's a queue of guys just waiting to ask you." There was no reply from Ginny, which made Hermione sure that the red head was considering the idea. The Headgirl smiled to herself.

"So," she called, "does green suit me?" She swept out of the dressing room in a ripple of emerald silk, watching Ginny emerge from hers in a gown of beautiful blue and gold.

"I hate to admit this but you should definitely get it," Ginny admired.

* * *

The rain hammered upon the window frame as outside the whole school was swamped in murky grey gloom. You wouldn't be able to tell it was spring if not for the carpet of yellow daffodils that had suddenly sprung up on the lawn outside the castle. Draco sat on his bed staring at the piece of paper wistfully. It was looking a little tattered around the edges now, and slightly singed on one side where it had been held near to the fire. But Draco could still see Hermione's looping signature slanting across the bottom.

He had kept the piece of parchment close by ever since it had been signed but now he was beginning to contemplate whether or not he really needed it any more. What would be the harm in giving it back to Hermione? Would she run a mile as soon as she was free? Would this tug on his heart go away? He didn't want a slave; he wanted someone who would stand by him willingly. How could he ever know if Hermione was that person if the Bond between them forced her to be by his side anyway?

Of course her very touch would no longer be able to take away all the pain in his heart, but he rarely felt any anymore. Somehow her very presence had washed him clean. He felt new, he felt rejuvenated, he felt scoured of all that had been evil and hateful in him. He didn't need to guard this pathetic piece of paper to feel better about himself. He didn't need to own Hermione to know she was there for him. Or did he?

Draco was contemplating this as there came a tap on the glass pane of his window. Looking up, he saw a bedraggled owl pecking furiously at the glass, hunched up against the pelting rain. He let the bird in, which swooped over to his writing desk, ruffling its feathers and hooting mournfully, droplets dripping from its beak. Feeling an uncharacteristic amount of sympathy for the poor creature, Draco cast a charm that dried the owl and gave it a broken piece of biscuit. Fully dried, the owl appeared rather smart, with the speckled feathering that marked it as a screech owl from the Ministry. It dropped its letter on the desk as it pecked at the crumbs of biscuit.

Draco picked up the letter, which had been charmed to remain dry, and studied the envelope.

_Mr. D. Malfoy,  
The Heads' Tower,  
5__th__ Floor,  
Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Turning it over, Draco saw the letter had been stamped with a wax seal depicting two wands clashing in a duel of some sort. From experience he knew that this was the seal for the department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry of Magic. His fingers hovered at the seal, wondering whether to tear it open or not. He had a vague idea what the letter contained but he knew that if he opened it and found out for sure, there would be no way he would be able to hide it from Hermione. A single touch from her and she'd know, How could he hide that kind of anxiety? And he didn't want her to worry too.

No, he'd wait until after the Ball, he decided. Then . . . Then things would be different. He didn't know how, he just knew that the Ball was going to be a turning point in some way. Draco slipped the envelope into his pocket and looked down at the signed parchment that contained the most precious thing to him. Things would definitely be different after the Ball, but whether that would be for better or for worse he couldn't yet tell.

* * *

"No, not there, a bit higher . . . yes, just there is perfect!" Hermione called, supervising two sixth years waving wands, as they charmed banners of green silk to the walls. "That looks fantastic. Now if you could just do the same with the other banners." Sweeping away, the head girl dodged a pair of Hufflepuffs carrying a table and weaved her way between the columns on one side of the ball room, stopping every now and then to rearrange a flower display. There was a buzz of excitement in the air as students bustled to and fro, charming decorations into place or conjuring more leafy vines to entwine themselves around the balcony.

"Ok, that goes on the dais," Hermione ordered, pointing to one side of the hall as students carried a variety of instruments over to the stage. "And make sure you don't block the . . . Ron!" Hermione said as her best friend approached.

"Hi, Hermione. The hall is looking amazing," Ron said, wringing his hands nervously.

"Thanks, Ron. It's getting there. Sorry I haven't had time to speak to you lately, I've just been really busy."

"That's ok. I just wanted to ask if . . . Well, I don't know if you have a . . . date to the Ball yet, but I-"

"Not going to happen, Weasley," Draco suddenly interjected, having appeared from nowhere. "Headboy and Headgirl do _not_ have _dates_. Granger's going to be far too busy making sure the fifth years don't sneak firewhiskey into the drinks." Ron's face coloured a bright red and he turned to Hermione, expecting her to interject. She glanced between the two, wishing she could be anywhere else.

"He _does_ have a point, Ron. I _will_ be busy," she said, shrugging apologetically. Ron's face darkened an even deeper shade.

"Ah, right . . . of course. I – I should have thought of that," he muttered before turning round and hurrying out of the hall.

"Ron! . . . Ron!" Hermione shouted after him but he had already disappeared around the corner. The volunteer students had all stopped to stare. Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples tiredly.

"That's it! The hall's done. Thank you everyone but you can go now! We'll see you all tomorrow!" she said, clapping her hands together and shooing the volunteers out of the door with a motion of her hands. When they had finally left, Hermione span around to look at Draco, who had a smug smile on his face.

"No dates? Since when was that decided?"

"Oh come on, I was doing you a favour. You've been avoiding him for weeks. We both know the very thought of dancing with the Weasel has had you running."

"That's not entirely true . . . but I _was _avoiding him."

"Of course you were. Who wouldn't?" Draco chuckled cruelly, taking a look at the hall in its finished glory.

The room was decked in vines, twisting and growing over every surface and winding around the columns, trailing from the ceilings and the chandeliers. Nestled within the leaves were small flowers of every colour. Silk banners hung from the ceiling and flowed down the walls to the floor. Ferns and flower arrangements lined the walls and brushed against those that walked by with a gentle touch. Along one wall long trestle tables formed a row, decked with rich table cloths, and awaiting the feast that would be prepared in the morning. The flagstones of the large open dance floor had been polished and shone beautifully.

Hermione walked around in slow circles, admiring her planning and handiwork.

"It will be a good night, Hermione. You don't have to worry."

"Who says I'm worried?" Draco walked over to her. In the mellow candlelight the floor shone invitingly. He wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Have you practiced dancing?" he murmured. Hermione turned round and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Who says I'm going to dance?" she smirked.

"Just one little one?" Draco asked, spinning her around. They began to sway in time to a silent beat, winding around the hall and twirling across the gleaming floor. Hermione held a hand to Draco's cheek and looked into his eyes.

"You're anxious," she stated, knowing immediately as soon as she made skin contact. "Is it the ball . . . or something else?" Draco looked at her for a second before glancing away, twirling her around once more and pulling her tight to his chest. They swayed in silence for a few minutes until he finally spoke.

"My mother has three fingers missing. Did you know that? . . . No, no one knows that." There was a sour look on his face as Hermione looked up in confusion, wondering where this was going.

"Draco, I-"

"Do you know how she lost them? . . ." Hermione's lips pressed together. She knew he didn't want an answer. Images flashed through her mind, images that weren't hers but his. They were still dancing circles around the Ballroom, pressed close together. She had almost forgotten how strange it was to be so close to this blonde boy, so unreachable yet so vulnerable, even if he tried to hide it. _That's it, let me in,_ her heart sang.

"My - my father cut them off." Hermione's mind was filled with screams, sobbing, begging, cackling laughter, Draco's memories echoing around her head. She wanted to flinch and break away, remove the contact that swamped her vision with gruesome images, ones she had only caught glimpses of when she absorbed his nightmares. But Draco had a grip around her waist, spinning her in faster and faster circles until the hall blurred.

"He used a muggle knife . . . once because she refused to sleep with him, another time because she tried to stop him beating me . . . and once because she accidentally spilt tea on his lap. Just tea . . . It was an accident. She was the only person to ever try and protect me. She was the only person I could ever trust. And I just stood and watched as he did that . . ." Hermione saw a frightened blonde boy huddled in the corner as a man fought with a struggling woman. A teacup was lying on the floor, the rich rug stained dark with liquid. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes but she couldn't.

Suddenly Draco broke away from her, turning his back. Hermione felt dizzy, disorientated. It took her a few seconds to realise she was no longer seeing Draco's memories. Eventually she approached him.

"I don't want you to look at me. I'm weak . . . I'm so weak." Hermione smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "I couldn't protect her. I couldn't stop him from turning her mad."

"You're not weak. Not anymore." She forced him to turn around and look at her. "And _he _is locked away. He can't hurt either of you anymore." She kissed him on the lips, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He blinked back unshed tears, taking a deep breath, and stroked her cheek.

"You know, Hermione Granger, I think I'm becoming rather fond of you."

"And I'm_ fond _of you too, Draco." There was smile on Hermione's lips but inside her heart a war raged.

* * *

**A.N. **_What's this? An update? This chapter is a belated Christmas present to all my readers. Thank you so much for the reviews and support and I'm sorry that I leave such big gaps between updating. If moving countries and then moving again to start university is an adequate excuse then I'm going to throw it out there! (Not that I think it is!) _

_For those of you that despair with waiting, I do promise that I will eventually finish this story. But honestly if you get really impatient then send me a message to remind me. Most of my chapters have been produced simply because I've received a review or message demanding to know why I haven't updated and that has reminded me/pushed me into writing out the next one. There's no bigger incentive than knowing you have people who appreciate your story and are waiting to read more._

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I normally write a little thank you message back but haven't had the time lately. So if you reviewed but didn't get a thank you message then I apologise and will try to send one next time._

_Finally, if you really love Hermione/Draco stories then I recommend visiting my page and click on my newly published story __**Founders, Keepers. **__It is a little different to the conventional DM/HG stories but is actually very similar in some aspects. If you like __**Selling Souls, **__then I promise you will like __**Founders, Keepers.**_

_Shameless advertising over, I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Xx_

_Anna_


	12. Chapter XII

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XII**

Hermione looked at herself in the full length mirror, gazing into her own steely eyes and wondering what kind of person was left still inside there. Her eyes travelled down as she smoothed the swathes of dark green velvet and silk over her hips, admiring the spirals and leaves embroidered on the front of her dress in silvery green that suited the spring theme so well. Overall she thought Ginny had been right; the green _did _suit her. The dress was cinched in at the waist by green silk ribbon to give the full curve to her figure, and the dagged sleeves draped downwards, but not overly so. To finish off the outfit an intricate necklace collared her neck, with a large green gem nestled at her throat. She pulled the dress back at the shoulders to reveal a little more skin and deemed herself presentable for the ball.

Picking up her wand, she was about to use a spell to tighten the laces at her back when a voice interrupted.

"Let me do it," Malfoy said, crossing the room and standing behind her. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she stared at him via the mirror.

"Were you watching me? My costume was supposed to be a surprise," she said, feeling his fingers trace the curve of her back rather than tying the ribbon. She closed her eyes, his hands moving forward to rest on her hips as he pulled her backwards into his chest.

"It's no surprise how good you look, Hermione. How could you look anything other than gorgeous?" he whispered into her ear, watching her in the mirror with a smirk.

"Oh, do I have the pleasure of being with Mr. _Charming_ Draco for the evening," Hermione laughed.

"Aren't I always?" he murmured, kissing her neck with slow gentle kisses. Hermione leaned further into him, feeling his lust bubble beneath the surface and wanting for just a fraction of a second to give into him.

"Why don't we skip the Ball and stay here for the night?" Malfoy persuaded, his lips grazing her skin.

"What kind of hosts would we be if we didn't turn up to our own event?" Hermione said, turning around to look Malfoy directly in the eye. She couldn't deny she was tempted, but she had avoided the issue of sex and anything surrounded it with Malfoy for a long time. To admit she wanted to sleep with Malfoy, would be to admit that he meant something to her, which she was not prepared to do. Besides, the longer she held out, the more he would want her, the greater disappointment when he finally realised that he would never have her. Hermione pictured his face as she broke his heart and tried to smile at the thought. _This is what you want, _she told herself. _This is what you have been working towards. Revenge._ The more Malfoy consumed her thoughts, the more she told herself it was only because she was dreaming of her vengeance.

"Besides, if we don't go, who will see you in your very fine outfit?" she said, looking him over. He was dressed in a black tunic, embroidered with patterns of gold thread at the sleeves and collar. Around his waist a black belt studded with golden rectangles circled his waist. The cut of the outfit defined his tall build and the angular sharpness to his face.

"I don't care about anyone else seeing it. Only you," Malfoy whispered, kissing her with more passion than usual. Hermione almost crumbled under his touch, but finally managed to drag herself away.

"Be that as it may, McGonagall will string us up by our ankles if we don't show." Malfoy gave an over exaggerated sigh.

"I have something for you. But now I think I'm going to make you wait until later," he said teasingly, patting his pocket. Hermione wondered what it could be but tried to banish any curiosity.

"Well I might have a _surprise_ for you too," she said, running a finger along his jaw, hoping he didn't catch the steely tone lacing her voice.

* * *

As Draco entered the ballroom he was slightly surprised to see how full it was. The hall was decked out in full glory, the twisting vines and flowers glowing warmly beneath the thousands of candles that floated high in the vaulted ceiling. Behind the large stained window candles had been placed to make the coloured glass glow down upon the dancers. To one side hundreds of different platters of foods lay piled upon trestle tables, displaying the simple fare of medieval times. A few roast boars lay nestled among mountains of fruit, breads, pastries and meat dishes. A variety of fruits, glazed in honey, had been charmed to look as if they were growing from the very vines, hanging down for any student to pluck from the walls whenever they felt like it. Tame bowtruckles scuttled among the leaves, playing little melodies on their tiny flutes, and leaping from vine to vine, whilst multicoloured songbirds fluttered from one leafy shelter to another, chirruping happily. At the far wall a band was setting up on the stage. Students milled about, dressed in a variety of medieval costumes and chatting animatedly. A few girls, swanning around in elaborate swamps of silk, eyed Draco predatorily. For once he completely ignored their gazes, turning to smile at the image of Hermione greeting overeager students.

"Great Ball, Hermione," Colin Creevey piped up chipperly, waving his camera. "Why don't I take a photo of the two organisers." Draco rolled his eyes but Hermione pulled him beside her, giving him just enough time to place a hand on her hip and stare solemnly into the camera lens.

"You could have smiled, Malfoy," Creevey sniffed, once the camera had clicked, handing them the picture.

The night turned into a blur of dancing and laughter, the smell of rich food drifting over the hall and the hum of music, all of which Draco hated. These types of events always reminded him of the dinner parties and balls his mother used to throw, in which every pureblood who valued the name turned up with their noses stuck in the air, complaining at length about anything they thought beneath them, which was a considerable number of things. Draco would always be bored to tears halfway through the night.

Just as Hermione was confiscating a bottle of firewhisky from a fifth year, and Draco was pocketing it for himself, McGonagall walked up to them, dressed as usual in her Professor's clothes.

"I must congratulate you both on your hard work. I believe the Spring Ball has been a resounding success. Perhaps you have restored its good name. Well done," the Headmistress smiled.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said with a grin of triumph.

"I'm glad the two of you have learned to work together. You make a shining example of the behaviour expected from a Head boy and girl." _Oh if you only knew_, Draco desperately wanted to say.

"We certainly hope so," he added instead. McGonagall seemed to look at him for a second with almost an expression of pity.

"That reminds me, Mr. Malfoy, I would like to have a quick word with you outside. If you'll excuse us, Miss Granger." Hermione gave Draco a puzzled look which he returned with a shrug, before following the elderly woman out into the hallway beyond the ballroom.

* * *

Hermione watched McGonagall and Malfoy exit the hall, wondering what was so important, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Harry smiling at her.

"You look nice," he said, leaning over to pour himself a drink.

"Thanks," she replied. "How's your evening been?" Harry shrugged and took a sip of from his goblet.

"Ron came with Lavender, you know?"

"That's good for him," Hermione said, feeling bad that she didn't really care. A strange detachment had settled over her during the night as she realised that she was about to do something that there was no coming back from. The consequences loomed vaguely in the back of her mind but she pushed them away, just as she pushed her emotions away, telling herself that they were mostly Malfoy's feelings anyway.

"I think he's trying to make you jealous," Harry commented dryly. He seemed anything but amused with the night's events. Hermione decided to ignore Harry's observation for the moment.

"And Ginny's here with Dean, I see," she noted, glancing over to see Ginny dressed in her beautiful gown of blue and gold, leaning on Dean's shoulder, although the red head kept stealing glances in Harry's direction. "Perhaps she's trying to make you jealous too." Harry shrugged as if he didn't care, glowering at Ginny from behind his glasses. Hermione watched his expression closely before pulling the goblet from his grasp and taking hold of his hand.

"Why don't you play her at her own game? Come, let's dance," she said, tugging his hand.

"Hermione, I don't think that's a good-"

"It's just a dance, Harry," she said, pulling him towards the dancers in the centre of the room. She placed her hands on Harry's shoulders, feeling his slip awkwardly around her waist. Together they swayed in time to the music for a while. Hermione watched the students milling around them, laughing or talking lightly, and she almost felt jealous of their normality.

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Harry?" she suddenly asked, glancing up at her best friend. He blinked at her in surprise.

"Of course not . . . You're passionate and stubborn as hell sometimes, and you can get too fixated on_ certain_ things. But you're loving too, and kind and loyal. You're not a bad person," Harry said, spinning her on the spot.

"I'm not so sure."

"Is this about Malfoy?" Harry asked. Hermione frowned but didn't answer. Instead they both danced together in silence for a while, before she eventually looked up at him.

"Sometimes I'm so sure I'm doing the right thing that I stop myself from just pausing to question it. But I have to do it, Harry. I have to for my own sanity. I have to be free from this _anger._"

"I know you, Hermione. I know you have to have control over the things you're scared of, even if it means destroying that thing. Whatever Malfoy's doing to you, you've decided that it's safer for yourself to just ruin him completely rather than find another way. But I know you're cleverer than that, Hermione."

"I've thought about breaking Malfoy's heart for so long now, I don't think I can do anything else. I'm lost, Harry." The dancers whirling around them were a blur of colour that made Hermione feel dizzy. A nervousness wracked her body that she couldn't be rid of. It was no time for doubts anymore. She shut out everything and focused on the rage she could feel wallowing deep down inside of her. She caught a glimpse of Ron watching her from across the room, frowning unhappily. She saw Ginny too, eyeing Harry jealously. And then she glanced up and saw Malfoy standing up on the balcony, looking down at her. It seemed like all the light in the room glowed specifically around him, lighting him up like a glorious target.

He smiled at her and she could see the openness on his face, a perfect trust in her. She smiled back sweetly.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered in her dance partners ear.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, just as her hand snaked up to the back of his head and she pulled him into a deep kiss, her hazel eyes never leaving Malfoy's grey ones.

* * *

"If you ever need any support or feel like talking about it, please feel free to do so. There are many members of staff that are here to help you. You should know that our highest priority is the safety of our students, and that includes you. No harm can come to you whilst you are inside Hogwarts' grounds. I hope this is of some comfort to you, Draco."

Draco nodded along to McGonagall's words but was barely listening. He didn't want to think about _this_. His mind was already consumed with thoughts of the contents of the envelope he had slipped into his pocket earlier that day. He tried to picture Hermione's face as she opened the seal and found the piece of parchment inside. Would simply giving back the parchment break the Bond? He assumed so. Was that what Hermione wanted? He wasn't sure whether that would be a good thing or not. Being broken from Hermione made him nervous, but making her happy was worth it.

"So please come and talk to me if you ever feel the need, Draco. I understand this is a difficult time for you," McGonagall eventually finished. Draco blinked and looked at his Headmistress.

"Thank you, Professor, but I am fine, honestly." McGonagall nodded her head but gave him a worried look anyway.

"Well, then, I will let you get back to the Ball. I wouldn't want you to miss out on the party," she said with another pitying glance his way, before walking off down the corridor. Draco paused, forcing himself to forget about the topic McGonagall had seemed so worried about. He would not let it ruin his night. He turned to return to the ballroom through the main doors but changed his mind and headed up the nearby steps that led to the balcony overlooking the dance floor. He wanted to look down on the twirling dancers and colourful dresses for a few minutes to calm his thoughts. Besides he would find it easier to pick Hermione out of the crowd from above.

There were only a few students on the balcony, most of them tucked away into little alcoves in pairs, whispering to each other lovingly or kissing passionately. Normally Draco would have found delight in breaking the lovers up but tonight he decided to leave them be. He leant on the wooden railing to watch the students below as they laughed and danced under the glow of candle light. At the centre of the room he finally spotted Hermione, feeling a pang of annoyance as he noticed she was dancing with Potter. She was facing in his direction and he could see the slight frown on her face as if the conversation the pair was having was serious. She seemed to glow under the light, her hair flaring hues of copper and auburn against the green dress.

Suddenly she looked up and caught his gaze and smiled sweetly. He could catch the light shining in her eyes as she leaned over towards Harry, her stare never leaving Draco's. Suddenly the sweet smile she was giving him had turned into a sinister sneer. And then her lips met Potter's. Draco's fists clenched the banister, barely believing what he saw, unable to break from her mesmerising gaze.

_This is what you mean to me,_ her eyes told him. _Nothing . . ._

* * *

"What the hell, Hermione!" Harry hissed, jumping back from her as if she burned. She winced at the anger behind her best friend's words and opened her mouth to say something. But Harry had noticed Ginny watching them, her face slowly draining of colour as the ultimate betrayal sank in. The red-head span around and marched out of the room and it seemed Harry forgot all about Hermione, instead running after Ginny and yelling her name. Hermione glanced around as a few people on the dance floor stopped to watch the commotion, exchanging muted whispers.

"Hermione?" It was Ron and he looked as if he couldn't believe his eyes. She didn't answer but shook her head at him emptily. She felt numb all over; the building wave of anticipation had crashed over her and washed away all feelings of elation or victory. Hermione's eyes were drawn upwards to the balcony where the Headboy was still staring at her. With a cold look, he turned away and walked through the door on the upper level. Suddenly it felt as if a rock had plummeted into Hermione's stomach.

"Draco," she breathed and started to desperately push her way to the doors through a crowd of bodies and costumes. She finally managed to wrestle her way out into the corridor beyond, where she saw Draco round the corner. She ran after him, calling out to him.

"Draco, stop! Stop I want to talk to you," she yelled, watching his shoulders hunch and his steps falter. She caught up with him, holding her skirts high so she wouldn't trip. Oddly she expected to feel a wave of anger emanating from him but all she felt was disappointment and an ache in her chest that she couldn't tell were his feelings or hers. He stared at her balefully as she approached and the look on his face almost tore her in two.

"I told you about my mother," he said quietly. "I've never told anyone else . . . you've been planning this, haven't you? Was it all just an act?"

"Did you think I would just take everything you've done to me lying down? Do you think I'm that much of a pushover?" Hermione snarled. "Yes, I _planned_ it. Now you know how it feels to be betrayed; to be trampled all over."

"What did I do, Hermione? What did I actually _do _to deserve this?" Hermione blinked at Draco's words.

"You . . . you _stole_ my soul and you – you . . ."

"You can't even remember what it is I'm supposed to have done! You've obviously built up some kind of bitterness towards me that you refuse to let go of. I was going to give you back the contract. I was going to do it tonight, because I thought we _trusted _one another. Clearly I was wrong." Hermione suddenly realised that throughout their conversation Draco hadn't raised his voice, nor had he given any indication that he was furious at her actions.

"Why aren't you angry?" she demanded, scowling. Draco shrugged.

"The one thing all this has taught me is that it doesn't help to get angry," he sighed.

"Oh that's it, _Saint_ Draco. So perfect," she snarled trying to rile him but only digging up the same feelings of rage within herself all over again. "You're a hypocrite, you know that? I _cured _you. It's _me _that stops you from getting angry." Draco looked at her for a second before he burst out into laughter, a kind of desolate chuckle, as if she had missed some vital clue to the whole conversation.

"What? What's so funny? Stop laughing at me!" Hermione snapped. "You should be heartbroken."

"Would you just listen to yourself, Hermione? Then you'd realise how ridiculous you sound. You know that's what I thought at first: I thought I was dependant on you. I thought it was _you_ that had taken all the anger away, but now I realise that you just helped to give me the chance to see what it was like to live free from it and choose for myself. I guess I should be thanking you. Up there on the balcony, watching you kiss Potter, I could have gotten angry, I could have smashed things and yelled and threatened, but I _chose_ not to. It doesn't get me anywhere. So _thank you_ for helping me realise. Thank you for setting me free."

"No!" Hermione yelled. "No! This isn't fair! You've done this to me. This anger," she continued, clutching her chest and beginning to sob. "It's yours. It's yours, not mine. I don't _want_ it anymore, Draco. _Please, please, _take it away. It hurts so much." Draco took her into his arms and held her against his chest.

"You don't understand, Hermione. You've been blaming me this whole time, but it's not me, it's not the Bond. I stopped being angry a long time ago. It's you. It's your own anger and you're storing it up inside of you, refusing to let go. You couldn't take the fact that someone could make you feel the way I do. No, don't shake your head. Don't deny it," he said, as Hermione frowned at his words. "I know you better than you think I do. You can't pretend I'm deluded. I _know _you feel the same way. What you're doing is just running away from the whole situation and blaming it on me, turning whatever it is between us into pure anger. I know what it feels like; I know how much it hurts. Let go, Hermione. Let go." The brunette sobbed into his shoulder, clutching his shirt in her fists.

"This is your fault," she sobbed.

"I know it is. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did, but I can't help you let go. You have to help yourself."

"I don't think I can. I – I thought that if I hurt you, I'd feel better. But it hasn't worked."

"I can give you back the contract. Is that what you want? Do you think it will help you?" Hermione started to sob harder.

"No, not yet. That's the easy way out for you . . . from this whole mess. Don't walk away from me yet. You owe me more than that."

"That's not what I want. I can pretend I don't care. I can pretend you haven't hurt me and that what you just did meant nothing to me. I could, but I won't. I'm not that kind of person anymore. I love you, Hermione . . . I love you but we need to stay away from each other for a while . . . for your own good." Hermione clutched onto his shirt harder and looked up at him. _I love you; _they were the words she had wanted to hear, the words she thought would give her power over him, the words that would let her win. But now she was beginning to realise this wasn't a game. There was no winning.

"I _don't_ love you," she ground out through clenched teeth, trying to get a rise out of him, hoping desperately that they were still on the same playing field. But she was disappointed yet again. Draco simply smiled sadly.

"That's ok," he whispered, before letting go of her and walking away.

"No!" she shouted. "No! Come back! Draco! This isn't finished!" But this time he didn't stop walking, nor did he flinch when she called his name. And she was left to stand in the hall on her own, an island of her own making.

* * *

**A.N. **_Pictures__ for the inspiration of the costumes and design of the ballroom can be seen if you visit my profile and follow the link under Selling Souls._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I am trying to up the maturity of the story in preparation for the next chapter, where things are going to take a bit of a twist! I know some parts of my story are a little confusing so please let me know if there is anything you don't understand and I'll explain. I also might go through the story and clarify a few things for future readers, depending on your feedback._

_Also a new chapter for my other DM/HG story '__**Founders, Keepers'**__ will be up soon for those who enjoyed the first chapter._

_Thanks for reading,_

_Anna_


	13. Chapter XIII

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XIII**

The library was a maze of huddled shelves, random stacks of tattered books, and a scatter of tables and chairs, all under the hazy glow of lamplight. Easy to get lost in, easy to hide in, the library was Hermione's place of haven when she wanted to escape from the outside world. She sat now at a scratched desk, surrounded by pieces of parchment and her text books, trying in vain to catch up with the work she had overlooked during the past few months. Throwing down her quill, she ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her eyes, sighing. No matter how hard, she couldn't help her thoughts drifting back to the night of the Ball.

Her anger had slowly been replaced by gnawing guilt and the dawning realisation she had lost something she hadn't realised she'd had in the first place. She felt lost and alone and strangely sad, and spent the evenings hiding away in the library, unsure how to proceed. Draco was avoiding her perfectly, and she was too scared to approach Harry or Ron, too scared of finding out how irreparable the damage she had done was. The one thing the night of the Ball had done was to help her realise how much she had alienated herself from everyone that had ever cared about her. How had she suddenly become her own worst enemy?

The reasons for her vendetta against Draco now seemed distant and obscure. Why hadn't she stopped to think about what she was doing and why she was doing it? Why had she nursed her anger and hatred towards Draco? Was it really as he and Harry had claimed? Was she just scared of this new relationship that had suddenly spiralled out of her control? Hermione wasn't completely sure she was over being angry at Draco yet, but neither could she seem to muster up the intense hatred she had directed at him. Instead she felt an aching in her chest. At times she would read something in a book and yearn to ask him his opinion on it. When she passed the chess table in the Heads' common room, the neat alignment of pieces waiting ready for battle yet gathering dust struck her in the stomach like a blow.

Hermione shook her head, trying to dispel the image of Draco's grey eyes from her mind. She picked up her quill again, focusing on a particularly boring paragraph in her History of Magic text book.

The sound of footsteps cut through the silence.

"Hermione?" The Headgirl turned around and cringed, coming face to face with Ginny. Taking a deep breath, Hermione waited for Ginny's notoriously hot temper to fly. Instead the girl sat down, playing with the spine of a book rather than look Hermione in the eye.

"It wasn't what it looked like," Hermione blurted out.

"I know. Harry told me that you were just trying to get back at Malfoy for something. At first I didn't believe him, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I mean, Malfoy can really be a little shit sometimes."

"I didn't mean to take it as far I did," Hermione mumbled. "Things just sort of . . . got out of control. I honestly wasn't thinking, Gin." Ginny shrugged and smiled at her friend.

"I know. We all do stupid things sometimes. You should have told me about Malfoy though. I could have hexed his precious hair right off. That would have taught him. What did he do, anyway?"

"I honestly don't remember," Hermione said, only half admitting the truth. She wasn't willing to tell Ginny about selling her soul. She could just imagine the sole Weasley girl giving her a lecture on the scale of Molly Weasley's howlers. "I really am sorry, Ginny."

"It's not me you need to apologise to, Hermione," Ginny said. "Harry understands and so do I, but Ron . . . You do realise my Brother's in love with you, don't you?" Hermione nodded, although the thought settled uneasily in her stomach. She had always _known_, but no one had ever said it directly like that. The words just seemed to make the idea sound even more absurd.

"I know Ron's an idiot sometimes, but I want the best for him. Either give him a go, or let him move on, Hermione. Make it clear to him you're not interested . . . if that really is the case."

"I'll talk to him, I promise."

"Good. I've got to go. I promised Harry I'd meet him before dinner. One good thing came out of all this: Harry's been giving me a lot more attention now. I guess I should thank you for that," Ginny smiled, before turning around and disappearing behind the shelves of books.

* * *

Hermione entered her common room with a sigh, noticing the emptiness of the space. Draco was nowhere to be seen but she soon realised he was in his room. She could feel a certain anxiousness emanating from him. Why would he be anxious? She longed to go and ask him, but knew she wouldn't get an answer out of him if she did. Instead she dumped her bag by the coffee table and noticed the pillows splayed across the sofa untidily. More to distract herself, than anything else, she began rearranging them, tucking them into the sofa. As she placed the last one, she noticed a corner of paper sticking out from the side of the sofa, where it had been deeply wedged.

Pulling on the paper, she withdrew a crumpled envelope addressed to Draco. Turning it over, she noticed the broken seal of the Department of Law Enforcement. _What would Draco have to do with the Department of Law Enforcement? _Was the letter important? Perhaps not, if Draco had so mindlessly stuffed it down the side of the sofa. Ignoring how incredibly nosey she was being, Hermione withdrew the parchment inside the envelope.

_Dear Mr. Draco Malfoy,_

_As is determined by the Act of Acquittal, 1956, which ensures that those possibly affected by the release of a prisoner within Azkaban are informed of the release date two weeks prior to discharge, I am required to tell you that, following post-trial investigations, the date of release for one Mr. Lucius Malfoy, believed to be in relation to the recipient, has been changed to the 10__th__ of April of this year._

_If you have any queries concerning Mr. Lucius Malfoy's acquittal, please contact the Wizengamot Administration Services, within the Department of Law Enforcement._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Principle Secretary William Mayden,_

_Wizengamot Administration Services,_

_Department of Law Enforcement_

Hermione stared at the letter, barely able to believe her eyes. The 10th of April? That was five days from now! How had Draco managed to keep this a secret from her? At first she felt indignation that he hadn't told her, then concern. What must he be going through right now, knowing that soon the monster that was his father would be free to roam the streets? Taking a breath, Hermione marched up the stairs to Draco's door.

"Draco!" she said, knocking lightly and holding her breath, listening for an answer. There was silence beyond the door, yet she knew he was there. She could almost feel his emotions beating in time to his heart.

"You have to speak to me eventually," she murmured, suddenly very tired and just wishing that he would open the door so she could see his face. She felt if she could look into his reassuring eyes then everything would be ok.

"I found your letter," she said slightly louder, hoping to get a rise out of him. "Why didn't you tell me? You can fight this, Draco. You can stop him. I can help you, but first you have to talk to me." Perhaps it was the Bond, or perhaps she had learnt him so well, but she suddenly knew what his words would be anyway. _We can't stop him. You don't know my father. You don't know what he is capable of._ Hermione was suddenly scared. She was scared Draco would never talk to her again, and she was scared for him, scared of what his father might do to him, scared that he might slip back into what he had been that night, which seemed so long ago, when he had written those seemingly harmless words across a scrap of parchment. Hermione leant her forehead against the wood, closing her eyes.

"Please, _please_, just talk to me ... _Please_," she begged. Silence. But Hermione didn't need to hear to know Draco's response. She could feel his anguish. He was struggling with himself, struggling to understand what he wanted so badly and what was _right_ for him to do. He had said he loved her. Just the thought made Hermione nervous in all kinds of ways. But he had also said that they must stay away from each other for Hermione's own sake. What had he meant? Why was he hiding from her, as if the very sight of her was dangerous? Didn't he realise they needed each other? Finally she gave up listening at the door. Feeling Draco's mix of anguish and heartbreak was too overwhelming, too close to what she herself was feeling.

"Just . . . Just promise me you won't change, please." She hoped he knew what she meant. _Don't go back to what you were, don't leave me behind_, is what she really wanted to say.

* * *

Back in the library, the sweet loneliness of the library. It was as far as she could get from Draco, as far as she could go to get away from his feelings that washed over her in nervous, frightened waves, great and greater as the days had passed. It was the 11th of April today. Lucius Malfoy had been a free man for over a whole day. The world had not stopped spinning, the sky had not crumbled in on itself, the castle's walls had not given a groan and split in half. Yet you would think all this was happening from the terrified, anxious emotions Draco was feeling. They seemed to bounce around the castle and right back to her every time she thought she had escaped. It was not his emotions themselves that hurt her, but the fact that he would not accept her help, would not talk to her still. Knowing he was collapsing into himself and her unable to do a single thing about it was like taking a stab wound to the stomach for Hermione. So she tried to bury herself in the library, where the books seemed almost to muffle his emotions, or perhaps it was because she felt safest here.

Hermione rose from her thoughts and yawned, stretching her shoulders and looking out of the window. She had been sat here for far too long. The sky outside was almost dark, only made worse by heavy, low lying storm clouds that brushed the horizon. Madame Pince would surely shoo her out into the castle's corridors before long. Picking up her bag, Hermione noticed Harry and Ron huddled together down an aisle, just out of ear shot. They seemed to be having a heated debate of some kind because Harry was shoving Ron rather heavily in Hermione's direction. Hermione swallowed nervously, knowing where this was going. She had apologised to Harry, who took it well, and the three of them had been getting on well again, sharing meals together at the Gryffindor table. Hermione had even been helping them with their homework, something she had stopped doing after Draco had started taking up all her attention. But she couldn't forget the look of betrayal and heartbreak Ron had given her at the Ball, nor could she forget Ginny's words earlier that week: _"Either give him a go, or let him move on, Hermione. Make it clear to him you're not interested . . . if that really is the case."_

Now Harry was pushing Ron towards her and she realised that the time had come to have the talk she had dreaded having for as long as she had secretly realised Ron was in love with her. Her two best friends had noticed her watching and Ron immediately coloured a shade to match his hair. His job done, Harry dropped back, far enough to give them privacy but not far enough that he wouldn't be able to step in if things got heated. He had witnessed enough arguments flare up between Hermione and Ron to know better than to leave them completely alone.

"Hi, Ron," she said, trying to keep her tone level. She didn't rise from her table but moved over a little so he could sit beside her. She stared down at the open book on her desk, rather than meet Ron's eyes and watch the hope die in them.

"Hermione, I . . . uh," Ron began, scratching his head, unsure how to proceed.

"Don't say it, Ron, please," she was suddenly begging, not sure she could cope with breaking her best friend's heart. Ron looked taken aback. He lowered his head. "You're my best friend," she continued. "You'll always be my best friend. Even if you end up hating me, I will _always_ be there for you. I love you, but not like that. Not like you want me to." It was funny, hurting someone's feelings and not being able to feel it. Hermione had half expected to feel Ron's heart breaking like she could feel Draco's. The realisation that she wouldn't hurt alongside Ron didn't make it any easier though.

"I know," Ron mumbled, taking Hermione by surprise. "At the Ball, after you . . . kissed Harry . . . I saw your face. You were looking at _him_ and you looked so panicked. Like the whole world was falling through your fingers, like everything was slipping away from you. I'd never seen you look like that before. _I _couldn't make you look like that." Hermione had never heard Ron speak so eloquently. It almost surprise her more than the actual meaning behind his words.

"I don't love Draco, Ron." Ron looked at her, his blue eyes searching her brown ones, and then shrugged.

"Maybe you don't _think_ you do. I didn't _think_ I loved you for a long time and then I realised I _had . . . _the whole time, without ever really knowing it." Hermione wanted to refute Ron's words but she couldn't bring herself to.

"You _will_ be my friend still?" she asked eventually.

"Sure," Ron shrugged and they hugged awkwardly. And with the hug Hermione felt a piece of Ron leave with it. Perhaps after a while things would be the same as they had been when the two had grown up together, but it would be a long while, years even. Until then, Hermione would have to face the fact that she had lost a part of her best friend and things would never be quite right between them again.

Harry, seeing the two hug, guessed that it was safe to approach and ambled over. They all lapsed into that awkward conversation in which you felt that things had been left unsaid and questions had been left unanswered, but the oppurtunity had passed for you to bring it up. Harry told a joke and Hermione chuckled, hearing a soft pattering sound. _The storm must be starting_, she thought to herself. But then she looked over and Ron and Harry were staring at her.

"Hermione?" Ron asked. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"What?" she chuckled nervously. "I'm not _crying_." But she looked down nevertheless and saw that the ink on the page beneath her was splattered and smudged by small droplets of water. She raised a hand to her cheek and felt the slick, salty tears there.

"I don't understand," she started before it hit her. She gave a gasp and clutched the desk, the other hand raised to her heart. She let out a sob that was bordering on a scream, almost falling to the floor. Harry and Ron's faces paled and they immediately began holding her up, asking her what was wrong. But she couldn't talk, she couldn't concentrate, her whole mind was spiralling, down, down, down, and it hurt so much, so very much, like her very body was being torn in two.

"Oww," she sobbed, her fingers digging into Harry's arm. "It hurts. Make it stop, please." Harry looked at her and through the fog of tears she could tell he was frightened and confused and didn't know what to do, just as she was. Another wave hit her and she doubled over, gasping for breath, trying to suck oxygen into lungs that were closing up in a panic attack.

"We need to get her to Madame Pomfrey," she could hear Ron saying as if from very far away. The shelves of the library swam before her eyes, the books blurring into one another. _Concentrate, Hermione_, she screamed at herself. _What is happening to you_? _Think! _And through the pain and the feeling of her very heart being torn into pieces, she began to realise.

"No!" she screamed, as Harry began lifting her. She knew they were trying to take her to the Hospital Wing but that was the wrong place. "No, it's Draco . . . We have to find him. I think-" But she couldn't finish the words as sobs doubled her over again. Never had she felt like this. Never had she felt as if her very soul, her very Being was being sucked away deep down into a black hole, a spiralling madness of pain, hurt, regret, anger, terror, sorrow. It was an unbearable combination, so painful she could hardly breathe.

"We have to find him," she said through gritted teeth, trying to gain some semblance of control, knowing she wasn't the only one feeling these emotions. "He's going to do something stupid. Help me, please."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, trying to decide what the best course of action would be.

"I'll get McGonagall," Ron finally said, sprinting off across the library. Harry lifted Hermione onto her feet. She could barely stand on her own, the crippling pain in her chest made her want to collapse to her knees and tear her own hair out in despair. _He needs you_, _Hermione_, she told herself. _He needs you to be strong. _With that, she tried to push the emotions and pain down and clear her head, concentrate on the task at hand: finding Draco. She knew that something terrible had happened to him and that her own fear threatened to add to his and pull her back down again. But she wouldn't let it. Not yet. Not until she knew Draco was safe.

"Where is he, Hermione?" Harry asked, helping her to walk towards the exit of the library.

"I don't know," she began but then realised she did. Not exactly, not so well that she could say in which room he was exactly. But there was a tugging in her chest, a faint invisible line that if she concentrated very hard pulled her towards him. "Follow me," she whispered, and began walking along the corridors, stopping every now and then when it all became too much and she had to put her head between her knees and gasp for breath. Harry's hand was soon deathly white where Hermione had clasped it so tight. They wandered the castle for what seemed like hours to Hermione but were probably only minutes. Each second, though, was another second Draco was alone, another second in which he could do something incredibly stupid.

Without realising, Hermione had led them upward to the highest levels of the castle and then to a spiralling staircase leading even further up.

"The Astronomy Tower?" Harry asked, holding back a little, unsure if Hermione, in her blinding pain, was not really leading them terribly astray. But the pain had intensified tenfold, thundering over her in waves, great tsunamis of grief that could only mean one thing. She was getting closer.

"He's up there, Harry." There was desperation in her voice, terror. She was scared of what she would find, but she had to, simply had to. Step upon step upon step. Up and up and up. _Draco!_

* * *

Draco didn't quite know what was happening. It felt as if very sky had dropped down and was crushing him with all its weight. There was blackness in parts, blackness where the conscious part of him could no longer operate, the pain was too asphyxiating, too dominating. If he stayed completely conscious then it would send him mad, he knew. He was vaguely aware that his body was operating beyond his control. Images faded in and out in hazy snapshots: paintings on stone walls, students stopping to stare at him puzzled, a hand, his own, steadying himself, steps, up and up and up, the sky, black as death. He was vaguely aware that his subconscious was trying to do something, trying to stop the pain, and he was also vaguely aware of what this entailed. But he did not fight it, did not _want _to fight it. All he wanted was an end, an end to the pain. His feet brushed the edges of stone work, the stormy wind ripped through his clothes. Then sweet blissful blackness again.

It had been an owl tapping at his window that had started the whole thing. If you wanted to be very specific it had been the first owl several weeks ago that had really started it, bringing news from the Ministry of his father's release. But this second owl heralded the crushing end.

Draco had been thinking of Hermione, of when and how to approach her, of whether she would still be angry, or whether she would forgive him. He had listened to her begging him to talk, to come out of his room. But he knew the time wasn't right, not yet. Even though it hurt him to hear the desperation in her voice. It took him a few minutes to realise there was an owl at his window he had been so absorbed in his own thoughts. It hooted indignantly at him as it hopped through the open frame, ruffling its feathers against the icy wind howling outside. A storm, Draco noticed, was brewing just above the castle and it wouldn't be long before it broke. Perhaps it was the heaviness of the storm that was lending to the anxious, nervousness in his chest. The feeling that something wasn't quite right.

The vague idea was only solidified when he picked up the envelope and recognised the handwriting on the front. This was no Ministry letter, the seal was not that of the Department of Law Enforcement. It was the seal of the Malfoy's. Already dawning terror was yawning over him with a giant maw, ready to snap him up in its jaws. With shaking hands he ripped open the envelope and out fell the note. And then out fell the picture too. One look and blackness . . .

Draco heard a scream; at least he thought he did. It sounded vaguely familiar, vaguely shaped into his own name. It was enough to pull him up through the layers of safe darkness he had shrouded himself in. The scream acted as a bucket of icy water would, pulling him up into consciousness, up into painful reality. Immediately he wanted to drop to his knees and scream and scream until the wind stole his very voice. But he didn't. Years of terror and rage and helplessness had given him a control over his body not many others would have. He stood like a stone statue, letting the wind buffet him. Through the clouds of grief he noticed the sky was not in fact a pitch black but was more a dark purple, bruised clouds rolling and roaring above him. Thunder groaned from close by and he could taste the electricity on the air.

His eyes wandered downwards, away from the sky to the ground so very far beneath him. The grass below seemed to waver, growing closer and then further away. _Ah, so this is what you had in mind_, he thought in a moment of clarity, commending his subconscious for making a decision he would have found hard to make if he were fully in control.

The scream came again, even more familiar. He turned ever so slowly, his feet scuffing upon the stone balustrade. The smallest of movements, a fierce gust of wind and he would be falling, falling, falling away from it all. As he turned lightning flashed illuminating her face, the copper brown hair whipping across her cheeks, the fear in her eyes.

"Draco! Draco!" she was screaming, struggling, clawing at Potter's arms. The boy was holding her back, stopping her from running to Draco, running towards the edge, but he was doing a poor job of it. "Let me go, Harry!" Her voice was hoarse from screaming, hoarse from fear. "Let me go! Draco! Don't do it! Please. Please!" her sobs filled the air, desperate, keening wails. It was his pain. He could tell. It was his pain in her voice, his fault.

"She's dead, my mother" Draco mumbled from far away, from a different place. "He killed her." Hermione slumped forwards then as if all fight had left her body. She knelt on the floor, tears rolling down her face, mixing with the light patter of rain that was beginning to fall, that would soon intensify into a heavy downpour.

"Draco, come away from the edge," she said, her voice being snatched away by the wind.

"No." She stared at him in disbelief, thunder stealing whatever swearwords Potter began spouting.

"Why?" Her voice was thin and hopeless.

"She was all I had. She risked her life to protect me. She was the only one who loved me. He's taken her, he's taken everything." Hermione was shaking her head, stretching an arm out to him.

"You have me. Please, you have me. He can't take that away. Please, Draco." It wasn't enough. He didn't have her. He had her soul, but he didn't have her heart. "You can have all of me, just come down from there. Please, Draco, come down," Hermione yelled in desperation above the rising wind and rain. Draco had one hand against a supporting turret but he could easily let go, the wind would quickly sweep him up and away. Falling. Hermione took his silence for indecision because she began inching towards him, her hair and clothes plastered to her body. Beyond her Potter was talking to someone else, someone who had appeared in the doorway, but their words were stolen by the wind.

"Get away," he yelled at Hermione. "I don't want you."He knew if she touched him she would take away all the pain and he would give in and come down. But this wasn't her grief to have, it was his, only his. Anger flashed across Hermione's face.

"Well I want you! Who are you to decide? Who are you to make all the choices? Why do you get everything you want and I'm left standing here alone? I want _you_, Draco, so come down this instant!" she snapped, the thunder groaning afterwards to add emphasis to her powerful words.

"Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you do as Miss Granger asks," a dry voice interrupted. "Or I shall have no choice but to charm you down myself." McGonagall looked paler than usual but her face was set with those usual stern lines. She had her wand out, ready to stop him. But perhaps if he jumped fast enough, when she least expected it, the old witch wouldn't have time to react. Before Draco could voice a reply, however, Hermione was already shouting at their Headmistress.

"Don't you dare!" she screamed. "Do you want to make it worse? It's his choice. Nothing you can do will stop him if he decided he wants to jump. He'll find a way eventually. He has to choose. He has to realise that I need him, _I need him_."

"I don't think you understand, Miss Granger. He has your _Soul._ None of us quite know the complications if he were to jump. It may destroy _you _forever," McGonagall hissed, slightly taken aback by Hermione's anger. Neither Hermione nor Draco were sane enough at that moment to realise that McGonagall knew about the Bond.

"Then I'll jump too. If he jumps, I'll jump," she cried, and before Draco could react, Hermione was up there beside him. The lightning flashed, the wind tore at the two of them, people were yelling, but all he could see was Hermione's face. Her eyes and cheeks were tear stained but under the glow of the lightning she was beautiful, perfect. Those eyes, eyes that had caught him long before he realised it, eyes that begged him now, without her having to say a word.

"It's your choice," she whispered and Draco's heart rose through the pain. His arms wrapped around her body, their hearts beat a terrified pattern on each other's chests. And then they were falling, falling, falling . . .

* * *

**A.N. **_Dun dun duh! Don't worry, this is not the end! There are more chapters still to come. I hope this chapter made up for the wait though. I certainly feel as if it's the best one I've written so far. I tried to let some of the madness Hermione and Draco were feeling come through in my writing. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing. Unfortunately I don't have time to answer every single review, but I try to reply to any questions people have and I hope you all know how grateful I am for the support._

_I've also realised that ff. net has blocked people from posting external links on their profile, so the site I was directing everyone to, to see the inspirations for the Ball costumes, has been unreachable. Here is the web address: **photobucket . com **__**/sellingsouls**__ So if you want to see Hermione's dress and Draco's suit just copy and paste the address into your browser and **delete the spaces**. I hope you enjoy the photos._

_Thanks for reading,_

_Anna _


	14. Chapter XIV

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XIV**

Hermione had her eyes squeezed tight shut, but she felt Draco's arms wrap around her, felt the wind tearing through them, trying to rip them apart. And then the air was whipping up her hair and she felt her stomach lurch as she was dragged sideways and was suddenly falling . . . Only the fall wasn't as long as she expected.

She landed with a thump on top of Draco's chest, her heart hammering wildly. His arms were still clinging to her tightly, as if he thought should he let go she would just carry on falling. The rain hammered down and the energy Hermione had found to jump up on the wall with Draco suddenly faded and she could barely bring herself to move a muscle. She could feel Draco's pain and grief seeping into her as their cheeks brushed together. There was peace in this one moment. It was a painful peace, but it was filled with knowing she was still alive, still in one piece, and Draco was still beside her.

"Never before in my life!" she heard McGonagall gasp through the rain. "Get them up! Get them inside. Quickly!" the Headmistress ordered. There was a shuffle of feet and Hermione felt someone tugging her arm.

"Get off!" she yelled. "Get off me." She snatched her arm back and rose shakily to her feet, hearing the thunder roar in the background. She could see Ron and Harry, pale against the dark sky, their eyes filled with confusion. At that minute she couldn't bear to look at them, couldn't bear for them to see the raw emotion brimming beneath the surface. Draco still lay on the ground, unmoving, staring into space, so Ron bent to help her lift him to his feet and together they led him into the tower and down the spiralling staircase.

"I don't know what you were thinking Miss Granger, but tomorrow we will have to have a long talk about your conduct," McGonagall snapped. "But for now the both of you will have to go to the Hospital Wing." Draco gave a groan and shook his head adamantly.

"No. Please, Professor. Let me just take him to his room. He just needs to lie down. I'll be there. I won't keep him out of my sight. Please, let me take him back to the Head's tower," Hermione begged.

"Miss Granger-" McGonagall began but Hermione interrupted her.

"I _know _what he needs," she said, staring her headmistress down. Now that McGonagall had admitted to knowing about the Bond there was no need for Hermione to pretend. McGonagall sighed.

"Very well, but I expect both of you to go to the Hospital Wing tomorrow." McGonagall gave Hermione a look as if to say "good luck" before ushering Harry and Ron away and striding down the corridor.

Hermione led Draco by the hand through the castle and into the Head's tower. He followed her silently like a child. It was all Hermione could do not to fall down and sob as she absorbed all his pain through their skin contact. But she reminded herself that it wasn't her grief, it was Draco's, and holding her hand was probably keeping him alive right then. She pulled him into his bedroom, sitting him down on the emerald sheets. She knelt down before him, so she could look directly in his eyes. The grey irises were blank and unresponding, as if he had drifted off into a different world.

"Draco?" she whispered. "Draco, come back to me." Her hand still gripped his. She was worried that if she let go, he would fall away from her again. The tears, which seemed to be a reaction all of their own, were still running down her face, but she was becoming accustomed to the numbing void of grief in her chest, telling herself to keep holding on, although all she wanted to do was break away and run as fast and as far as she could. To hide away from the sight before her. But she couldn't. He _needed_ her.

"You're soaking. Let's take off your clothes," she murmured, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it down his shoulders, smoothing his hair from his face. She ran her hands down his chest, feeling how cold his skin was. Hermione pulled her own wet clothes off and they crawled into bed together, curled up, shivering. In the warmth and safety of the blankets, Draco seemed to come back to life a little.

"She's gone, Hermione," he whispered into her hair.

"I know." There was little more she could say. She just hoped he knew how much she understood, how the skin contact between them told her everything she needed to know.

"It's my fault. I should have fought the Release." Hermione sat up, holding his face between her hands so he was forced to look at her rather than shy away.

"None of this is your fault. You can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to continue but she intervened by leaning down to kiss him, knowing that he needed a distraction, something to stop the thoughts spinning in his head. He kissed her more hungrily than she expected. She pulled away, startled, but he pulled her back.

"Don't stop," he murmured, and even though the Bond forced her to continue, she would have done anyway. The more she pressed her skin against his, the further she dragged him away from reality, and the further she fell into the whirlpool of his emotions. Grief and pain and pleasure, the sound of his ragged breath, the solid feel of his back as she gripped his smooth shoulders. Hermione felt herself falling and falling and falling. But he was still here, with her, and suddenly she knew that was all she needed. Images and emotions scattered as sunbursts fluttered before her eyelids.

"Thank you for not jumping. Thank you for choosing me," she whispered as sleep pulled her down.

"It will always be you . . ." she heard him murmur against her neck.

* * *

Hermione was woken by a hand stroking the hair from her forehead. She opened her eyes to see Draco sitting above her, grey eyes staring into hers. Memories of the night before rushed back to fill the peaceful muddle that occurred when just emerging from sleep. Suddenly she felt shy and exposed. A blush coloured her cheeks as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

He smiled and leant forward, planting a kiss on her lips.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ." he began. "I should have stopped."

"Draco, don't apologise." She reached out to touch his chest put he pulled back as if her touch would burn him.

"No, don't touch me," he said as gently as he could. "I'm sorry, I don't mean it like that," he continued at Hermione's startled expression.

"I just want to take away the pain," Hermione muttered, wanting to curl up under the duvet and close her eyes against the nightmare she had been in for the last few days. Most of all she wanted to return to the warm comfort of Draco's embrace.

"That's just it. This isn't _your _grief," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "It's mine and I shouldn't put you through it. You don't deserve that."

"Draco, I-"

"Hermione, please. I can't watch you suffer because of_ me_ anymore. You think I don't notice the nightmares you have that are supposed to be mine? And yesterday . . . you shouldn't have got up on that wall with me. I can't protect you from myself, from my own emotions. It's destroying you."

"No, it's not." Hermione reached out for him again.

"I don't want you to touch me . . . ever again." And with those words the Bond stopped her completely. No matter how hard she tried, her muscles betrayed her and she had to jerk her hand back just inches from Draco's skin.

"Don't do this, Draco, please," she begged.

"I need to feel this, Hermione. I need to grieve without worrying how much it will be hurting you too. Please, give me this."

"You've given me no choice. But if that's what you want . . ." Hermione whispered. Inside she didn't know what to think. Just a few weeks ago she had been consumed with the desire to break Malfoy's heart, to watch him crumble before her. And then she had faced the prospect of losing him, of watching him tumble over that wall, and she had realised she couldn't live without him. Now he was doing this to her. But she couldn't argue. How could she when he had just lost his mother? He had a right to his own grief, his own emotions.

But one look at his crumbling form made Hermione want to embrace him, to pull him down into the bliss they could make for themselves. And yet now there was another wall of their own making separating the two.

* * *

**A.N. **_Just a very short chapter to keep the story flowing and so you all don't have to suffer with the cliff-hanger of Chapter 13 any longer. If you like this story, I would ask you please to check out my other Hermione/Draco fic 'Founders, Keepers'. Chapter two is up and I would really like to know whether it is worthwhile continuing the story, plus I will need something to work on once 'Selling Souls' is complete, so please let me know. I promise it won't get in the way of 'Selling Souls' updates._

_Thanks for all your reviews and support so far,_

_Anna_


	15. Chapter XV

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XV**

Lucius Malfoy had never considered himself a bad man. His allegiance to the Dark Lord had been a matter of pureblood pride. His people were dwindling. Purebloods were becoming few and far between, losing power and status. Wouldn't anybody strike out in order to defend their own people? Their own culture? As for his wife and son . . . Didn't any head of a household deserve respect from his family? And when that respect was not forthcoming, wasn't it perfectly reasonable to act accordingly? His own father had done the same, as, he was sure, had his father's father before him, and so on, making the Malfoy lineage so magnificently strong.

Yet no matter how much he tried to mould his family, carve them into the perfect form, they still disappointed him. Rather than becoming his perfect counterpart, more eloquent and divine than before, his wife fell further and further from his favour every time he tried to teach her a lesson. She was so _weak, _snivelling and begging, promising to change but never doing so. Eventually he had taken to cutting pieces of her away, trying to sculpt her into something _savoury_ at the least; not so cripplingly embarrassing. But this pushed her even further into madness. So far in fact, he had grown too bored and ashamed of her to even _try_ anymore.

As for his son . . . That snivelling, cowardly toad! He dared carry the name of Malfoy! Draco had betrayed Lucius, letting his own father rot in Azkaban whilst he cavorted with a _Mudblood!_ Oh yes, he knew all about his son's affection for the Granger girl. He had eyes in many places, who all kept him well informed. The thought of his son with Granger made him sick to the pit of his stomach. Not only had Draco turned against him, dooming his own father and his Master, the Dark Lord, he was now enamoured of Potter's lackey, a Mudblood! Betrayal of such magnitude did not sit lightly with Lucius. When Malfoy had heard of Draco's misdemeanours he knew he would not stop before cutting out his son's tumorous heart, eradicating the shame from his family's name. Not only that, but he would crush Draco's very soul first for betraying him in the first place, until the boy begged to be killed.

It had been easy to set the plan in motion. His release date had already been decided upon. Despite the new Death Eater free government, wizards were still as greedy and as corrupt as they had ever been and Lucius had plenty of gold to favour them with. Several letters sent from Azkaban to a select few individuals had ensured a post-trial investigation in his favour and a reduced sentence of less than a year in Azkaban. Once released, his wand had been charmed to act as a tracking device that allowed Ministry officials to determine his whereabouts at any time and warned them if he was ever to use dark or dangerous magic. But this restriction was purposely lax and a quick visit to Knockturn Alley had soon provided him with a suitable substitute wand.

It had been a simple matter to walk into his own house and dispatch the maids who cared for his wife. Narcissa has turned pale as a sheet when she had seen her husband. Then she began babbling frantically, thrashing about in her bed like a hooked fish. Half the words she said he didn't understand. It made Lucius smirk to know he could still elicit such fear, such blind, crippling terror. The dark magic tasted sweet after he had not used it for so long. It surged through him, rippling through every vein and filling his ears with the beautiful sounds of his wife's screams.

When he was done he felt free, lighter than he had ever been in years. He was slowly cutting away the weakness and rebuilding the Malfoy family name. He took a picture of his wife's body using an old magical camera Narcissa had bought to photograph their son. With care, he put the photograph in an envelope and addressed it to Draco, imagining the horror his son would experience upon opening it. The first step in his ascension to revenge.

Lucius knew it was only a matter of time before the Ministry was informed of his deed and Aurors were dispatched to track him down and haul him back to Azkaban. But he wasn't going back there, oh no. This was only the beginning . . .

* * *

"Ah, come in Miss Granger."

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione nodded, closing the office door behind her and taking a seat. She swallowed nervously, trying gauge McGonagall's mood. Was she going to get a lecture about her stupidity or be offered sympathy? The old woman's stern eyes gave nothing away.

"How is Mr. Malfoy? Recovering, I hope?"

"He's – he's getting better," Hermione murmured. How could she answer that question when Draco was yet again avoiding her? "He is still grieving. But Madam Pomfrey gave him some calming potions that appear to have helped. Most of all he just seems . . . numb . . . unresponsive." Hermione tried to stop her voice from trembling as she spoke.

"Shock can do that to a man. I hope he knows that the Aurors from the Ministry are doing everything they can to track down Lucius Malfoy and bring him to justice."

"If justice had been upheld, Lucius Malfoy would have never been released in the first place," Hermione scowled, wishing nothing but death for Draco's father. McGonagall stared at the Head girl for a second before waving her hand to dismiss the subject.

"You know why you are here, Miss Granger? The matter cannot be put off any longer." Hermione looked at the floor rather than meet McGonagall's eyes. The shame of her situation welled up in her again.

"It was an accident, I swear. A stupid, stupid accident."

"Whether or not it was an accident is beside the point, Miss Granger. I must learn how it came about that you . . . _sold your soul_, for want of a better phrase." Hermione took a deep breath, casting her mind back to that night that seemed so very long ago.

"Draco and I were arguing. He claimed that it was possible to sell one's soul to another. He was trying to rile me. I, of course, disagreed. He decided that I should sign a piece of paper that would give him rights to my soul . . . I shouldn't have signed, I know. I was just trying to prove a point. Neither of us truly believed it was possible. But then . . . then strange things started to happen."

"And so you decided to break into the Headmaster's library, hmm?" McGonagall said, the lines on her forehead deepening into a frown.

"I just wanted to know what was happening to me. How to stop it. I'm sorry," Hermione said. The heat of McGonagall's gaze caused her cheeks to burn.

"Before Mr Weasley came to me and confessed all . . . you can't blame the boy," she said when Hermione looked up, startled. "I do believe he thought this _Soul Bond_ was killing you, the state you were in that night." Hermione told herself not to get angry at Ron. She had been crying, almost screaming, barely able to move as Draco's grief had crashed over her. For all Ron knew, the Bond could have been destroying her. He did what he thought was best.

"Before Mr Weasley came to me," McGonagall continued, "I had a suspicion that something was not right with you. I assumed that it was simply the strain of living with someone so very different from yourself. I could not have possibly guessed that you had gotten yourself into such a predicament. I will not ask you why you did not come to me sooner. Such things are in the past now. But this mess must be solved. This Bond must be broken as soon as possible."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione nodded. _Easier said than done,_ she thought to herself.

"I have read through the one book in the Headmaster's library that speaks of Soul Servants. I believe you have also read it," the Headmistress said with a raised eyebrow.

"Draco did . . . I did not get a look at it."

"It was not particularly enlightening," McGonagall muttered. "There is a reason texts on this kind of magic are hard to come by. Soul magic is one of the most deeply complex and obscure types of magic we know of. It existed long before spells and wandwork. A long forgotten magic. Primeval and extremely dangerous. There was a time, long ago, when witches and wizards knew how to control it. Now, I'm afraid, we have forgotten the art, but for a few aspects of it . . . It was once believed that the Soul is a type of well inside each of us from which our magic is drawn. Perhaps there is some truth to this. But it means that soul magic is directly linked to that well of magic, making it very powerful. You have seen Soul magic before in the form of Voldemort's horcruxes. That was dark, evil magic. The involvement of the soul is what makes dark magic so strong. I am not suggesting that this Soul Bond of yours is also a thing of evil, but we must be wary. I do not think it will be simple to break your connection to Mr Malfoy."

"What do you suggest we do?" Hermione asked. McGonagall reached into a drawer in her desk and retrieved a small book with a battered cover and yellowed pages. She seemed hesitant at first but eventually handed it to Hermione.

"I managed to come into possession of this book. It was not easy, I assure you. The text within is extremely dangerous. You will see why when you read it, but I think it may provide some answers. I am extremely uncertain about giving this to you, Miss Granger. There are things in it no witch or wizard should ever know. But I think it will provide more answers for you, with your experience of this Bond, than it ever could for me. Take it, read it, but show no one else. If it were discovered that I gave it to you . . ." McGonagall sighed. Hermione had never seen the Headmistress seem so unsure of herself. "Either way, if it were ever discovered that a student of mine had become involved in soul magic, I would also lose my position. Do you see how difficult a situation I am in, Miss Granger? But you are a good, honest young woman. I am sure I can trust you. Go now. Try and find a way to get your soul back. If within a week, you have not managed it, then I guess we will have to seek help from the Ministry . . . It is times like this that I wish Albus were still here," McGonogall sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

"As do we all, Professor," Hermione whispered.

* * *

Hermione was shocked by the contents of the book. There were things in it she had never dreamt of knowing, dark magic and spells more powerful than any used today. Even, she discovered, the way to make a horcrux. She fought with her own curiosity to skip the chapters concerning such things. Something deep inside told her that having such knowledge would be invaluable, would make her stronger that she could ever imagine. She told herself that she would not misuse the information . . . and then she thought of Voldemort and her fingers turned the pages before she could even glance at the contents. There was some useful information, however, although it was sparse.

'_The Soul has always held links to magic. Long ago, magic was performed without the use of wands. It was instead believed to be controlled by a witch or wizard's 'essence' or 'soul'. The stronger the soul, the greater control over one's magic. This is still seen in the use of wandless magic today. Yet there is still very little known about soul magic, its origins and uses. The most famous use of this magic was in the creation of Soul Servants or 'Souldiers', the reappropriation of a person's 'essence' by a witch or wizard, giving that witch or wizard control over the other. Most notable during the Roman times, this form of Soul magic was banned after the 1500s. However, less well known are the implications dark magic has on the soul or 'essence' . . .'_

Hermione's eyes grew wide as she read on. Her fingers snapped the book shut and she closed her eyes, trying to calm her breath. _It was ok_, she tried to tell herself. _He wouldn't ever do a thing like that._ But still, she _had _to talk to Draco about this. He had to be warned.

* * *

The room was dark, the curtains pulled tight across his windows. Draco lay in a huddled mess in his bed.

"You can't stay like this forever," Hermione muttered, wishing not for the first time that she could reach out and touch him. Comfort him with a soothing hand to the forehead, or shake the life back into him, until he woke up from this stupor.

"McGonagall sent for me. She says the Bond has to be broken. We have a week before she involves the Ministry . . . Draco, if the Ministry becomes involved they could penalise us. Soul magic is banned. They might take away our wands. Do you understand how serious this?" She paused, waiting for an answer from the Slytherin, but none was forthcoming. He simply stared at the ceiling, silent to her questions. "Draco, I think you should look at this. It's a book McGonagall gave me. It could help us break the Bond . . . Draco, are you listening to me? . . . Draco!" Hermione slammed down the book in frustration. "There are things in here . . . things that scare me. If you were ever to . . ." She trailed off. Such information was vitally important. She felt she needed his full attention before she could tell him.

"If you want it, take it," she heard as a murmur. She looked over to see Draco pointing at his bedside table. Upon it, lay the piece of parchment she'd signed so many months ago, looking so innocent and more than a little worn now. _Could it really be that easy?_ She stared hard at the paper for a few seconds, wondering if she really wanted this Bond broken just yet. Of course she did! All she wanted was to be free to shake some life into Draco of her own will.

Finally she reached out, but as her fingertips grazed the parchment, she recoiled with horror, a shock going up her arm. Her signature on the paper glowed for a second. Then, in a small burst of flames, the entire contract shrivelled up and drifted to the floor as ash. Hermione expected to feel a searing pain, as she had when Ron had held the parchment so close to the fire on Halloween night. But this time she felt nothing.

"What just happened? Did it work?" she gasped. Draco was not looking at her. Instead he had sat up and was clutching a hand to his chest.

"Do you think _this _means it's worked?" he asked, moving his hand to reveal her signature etched into his skin just over his heart. Hermione drew a breath and reached out to trace a finger across the marked flesh. It was then that she knew the Bond was not yet broken, for her fingers stopped an inch away from his skin and no matter how she pushed, her muscles would move no further forward.

"I have your _signature_ on my skin!" Draco said, blinking in disbelief. His eyes were red rimmed and looked at her sluggishly, not all there. He kept pawing at the mark as if it would rub right off.

"Merlin!" she swore. "The Bond _still_ isn't broken and now the contract doesn't even exist anymore!"

"Looks like you're stuck with me," Draco sniffed. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, recognising the indifferent Draco that had once existed. She had grown unused to this kind of behaviour in the last few months and did not want him to return to the way he once was.

"I know you're grieving, Draco, but I need you to help me here. We have just one week! One week to prove to McGonagall that we've broken the Bond."

"I guess we're going to have to pretend."

"Do you want to be stuck with me forever?" She could barely comprehend Draco's attitude.

"I offered to give you back your soul after the Ball, remember? But you refused."

"I was in a bad place. You know that. Do we have to go over this now?"

"When _will_ we go over it then?"

"You're in no state-"

"Don't baby me, Hermione. Don't you understand that I don't want to – never wanted to take advantage of you," he growled.

"I wanted . . . I wanted to help you."

"It's not how it should have been." He was mumbling, barely looking at her, his gazed slipping past her shoulder. She had the feeling he wasn't quite all there at the moment.

"How should it have been then?"

"I . . . I can't _feel _for you and . . . It's not right. I shouldn't be allowed to feel this way . . . with you, when my mother is dead and it's my fault."

"It's _not _your fault. How many times do I have to say that?"

"Please, Hermione, just leave . . ."

"No! Stop pushing me away!" Draco rolled over, turning his back on her and putting his hands over his ears.

"Go away, Hermione. Get lost." The words echoed in her ears, pushing her to move her limbs. Draco had buried himself under the covers once more, ignoring Hermione's startled gasp. _Get lost . . . _She found herself walking down the corridor, further and further, an icy grip on her muscles. It was then that her vision began to blur at the edges, darkness creeping over her eyes. _Get lost . . . _ inside she was screaming at herself to stop, to turn around, to open her eyes. She could feel doors swinging under her palms, a night breeze on her skin. She could no longer hear, see, or think. _Get lost . . ._

When she finally came to, her vision clearing, she looked up to see heavy pine wood boughs swinging in a ghostly wind beneath a dark sky. The sound of nightlife echoed past hundreds of tree trunks, large columns that stretched on for as far as she could see. Hermione looked around her and could come to only one conclusion . . . she was utterly and hopelessly lost. She was weary too. Her limbs ached as if she had been walking for hours. _Damnit, Draco! _She could only assume she had stumbled into the Forbidden Forest, which stretched for miles around the castle and was full of all kinds of creatures. A quick search for her wand proved utterly fruitless.

Suddenly Hermione heard the rhythmic crunch of pine needles beneath foot . . . or paw . . . Steadying her breath, she glanced up, only to see an icily familiar face peering at her from between two trunks.

"Sometimes you make a wish and the little bird flies right into your hands," a voice hissed, grinning at her under the gloom of a half-moon.

* * *

His conversation with Hermione seemed distant, hazy, as if it had happened many years ago. Absentmindedly, Draco scratched his chest and looked down to see the lines of Hermione's name burned onto his chest. Ah, so that _had_ happened. He hadn't dreamt it after all . . . He felt as if he was losing his grip on reality, drifting through a cycle of nightmares and waking moments spent staring at the dark recesses of his ceiling. The nightmares were worse than ever, and he knew his mother would never be there again to shelter him. Her voice called to him from some dark recess of his brain, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not picture her face. The effort to do so gave him a headache and made his vision blur even more. Was it the calming potions Madam Pomfrey had given him? Or was he doing it to himself, to help with the pain? He wanted to roll back over and go to sleep once again, but now Hermione's voice was echoing around his head.

She'd been here, hadn't she? Had it been five minutes ago or several days? He simply couldn't tell anymore. He remembered, she'd sounded aggravated, talking about a book, the Bond, the usual stuff. Draco glanced over at his bedside table to see a book there. It looked sombre in its ragged black cover. _There are things in there . . . things that scare me. _Had she really said that? She'd seemed pale, anxious. And what had he said back to her? . . . _Go away._ Draco frowned for a second and then sat up suddenly.

_Get lost . . ._

Swinging his legs over the bed, he pulled on a creased shirt and a pair of trousers, looking in the mirror for the first time in days. His reflection showed a wane boy with shadows under his eyes and tousled hair that had not seen a comb in far too long. As he tried to smooth down errant tufts of hair, he listened intently for any sound of Hermione moving around in the common room. Sticking his head out of his bedroom door, he called her name. Only ominous silence rang back at him.

_Get lost . . ._

The sky outside the common room window had darkened to a deep, navy blue, lit only by the light of a half-moon. Draco could see the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest from here, sharp black spears against the horizon. Maybe it was the potions he'd been drinking, maybe too much sleep and too little movement, but the great wooden sentinels seemed to beckon to him.

"Hermione! . . . Hermione!" No answer. She could be anywhere. In the library. In the Great Hall eating dinner. In the Gryffindor common room . . . Perhaps.

_Get lost . . ._

There was a strange feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach. Somehow he could tell something was wrong.


	16. Chapter XVI

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XVI**

For a moment it seemed as if the whole forest had fallen into complete silence, framed by the slanting moonlight into a black and white picture. The Forbidden Forest held its breath to the terror it sheltered, the cruel madness that was about to unravel. A breeze drifted through the great wooden columns, lifting leaves and the damp tendrils of chestnut hair. Stillness . . .

And then Hermione's heartbeat broke the hush, hammering in her chest and pushing her into action. Instinctively she scrabbled for a wand she knew was not there, the pine needles under her hands painfully sticking beneath her fingernails. Her every impulse told her to run and run and not look back. She managed to jump to her feet but was given no time to dart between the tree trunks.

"_Incarcerous_." Thick ropes appeared from thin air and wrapped around her wrists and ankles, binding her arms to her torso and her ankles to one another. She immediately fell to her knees and cried out in fear and frustration. She fought the bindings, writhing in the dirt, but they would not budge and eventually she grew tired. She stopped, warily watching the man who hovered under the shadow of the trees. The last time she had seen him he had been standing trial before the Wizengamot. He was far more gaunt now than before, all withered and wrinkled at the edges. His once long and silken hair was hacked short and ragged at the shoulders. But there was that same wolfish hunger in his eyes, a malicious madness that Hermione guessed could never be quenched.

"Miss Granger," he said, his eyes glowing steel under the moonlight.

"You stay away from me," she spat, trying to dig her feet into the ground and gain a standing. Instead she rolled onto her side and couldn't sit up. He laughed as she struggled.

"You thought you could throw me into Azkaban and let me rot away, didn't you, _Mudblood_?" He stood tall despite his year-long imprisonment, a dark shadow against the tree line. "But Lucius Malfoy does not _sit_ behind bars." His wand stayed constantly pointed at her forehead. The things he could do with that wand made her stomach churn.

"They should have never let you out. You're mad. How could you – How could you do that to your own _wife_. You're a _monster_." Hermione couldn't help her voice from trembling. If he had tortured and murdered his own wife, who had always stayed faithfully by his side, what would he do to her, who had helped to imprison him? He laughed, but it came out more as a violent hiss.

"So my son showed you the picture, did he? Was that whilst you were sucking his cock?" Hermione balked. "Oh yes, I know all about you two. Becoming quite inseparable, aren't we?" Hermione pressed her lips together. She wondered how much he really knew and how. Surely he knew nothing of their soul bond.

"What do you want with me?" she said instead. The smile that spread across his lips chilled her to the bone.

"You think I joined the Dark Lord's cause for the fun of it? I did it to keep scum like you from polluting our bloodline. The Malfoy's have always been the purest, the strongest of bloodlines. Our family has fought _hard_ to keep it that way. _I_ have fought hard. My son is a weak link. He must be removed. But not before I have destroyed him for his treachery. I started with his mother and now I am moving on to you."

"Your son is a better man than you will ever be. He is _not_ the weak one." Lucius waved a hand dismissively. He had emerged from beneath the trees and now inched towards her. Hermione could do nothing but watch him approach. The sound of her heart beating in her ears almost deafened her.

"What truth is there to the words of a Mudblood? I _tried_. Merlin knows, I tried to make him strong. But there is too much of his mother in him. Her sister married a Mudblood. I should have known then. I should have seen the signs: a penchant for Mudbloods and Muggles. But I will not allow such discrepancies to worm their way into the Malfoy bloodline. My son must be burned from it."

"Don't you dare touch him. Haven't you done enough to him?"

"Not nearly enough, Granger." He was stood right in front of her now, and she could see that his teeth had become blackened and rotted. She began to laugh. An involuntary action but it startled the man before her.

"What? What is so funny?"

"You. You're just so pathetic. A pathetic man with his pathetic ideals. You've lost. Can't you see that already? There's nothing more for you to fight for. Your war is over . . . Blood purity is over." Lucius bent impossibly close to Hermione's face and sneered.

"You're going to regret saying that." He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking painfully, and raising his want to her chest. Hermione closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, knowing what was coming. "_Cru-_"

"_Expelliarmus!_" Lucius' wand went flying from his grasp to land several feet away. Slowly a figure detached itself from the shadow of the canopy and emerged into the moonlight.

"Draco!" Hermione could not help but call. He stood, ghost pale, with his wand raised. There was terror in his eyes and it washed over her in waves as he approached, far stronger than any she herself had felt previously. He did know, after all, the extent to Lucius' cruelty better than anyone.

"Move away from her," he called, pointing the tip of his wand directly at his father. Instead, Lucius smiled and wormed his hand tighter around Hermione's curls, yanking her head back until she cried out. There was suddenly a sharp pressure against her throat. A knife, she guessed. Such a Muggle weapon suddenly caused her far more fear than Lucius' wand ever had. She imagined the steel blade slicing into her skin, the slick pour of blood and the pain to come with it.

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Draco." The Head boy's wand wavered.

"Don't hurt her." He sounded almost desperate in the darkness.

"Ah, so you_ have_ grown fond of her. Did she squeal when you fucked her, Draco? All the Mudbloods I ever fucked squealed like pigs." Lucius' eyes never left Hermione's as he spoke, a hint of suggestion playing on his lips. She tried to flinch away but the man would not allow her to. She could tell he was trying to rile his own son into action. Did Lucius _want_ Draco to kill him? Dread suddenly filled the pit of Hermione's stomach.

"Shut up," Draco cried.

"Was she worth it? Worth betraying your own blood for this piece of filth."

"Draco, listen to me. Please," Hermione begged. Lucius shook her roughly.

"Look at this worm. All that spills from her mouth is dirt. Don't listen to a word she says."

"Don't speak about her like that . . . Why? Why did you do that to mother?"

"She was a weak, snivelling woman. She ruined you, turning you into pathetic, traitorous scum. I did what was warranted in my position."

"I'll kill you!" The look on Draco's face said he really would. Dread suddenly filled the pit of Hermione's stomach.

"Draco, remember the book? The book I was trying to tell you about?"

"She wants to talk of books! Ha." Lucius laughed, the knife tickling Hermione's throat. She struggled to keep her head clear, to focus on what she was trying to say. She could feel that Draco was just as scared, angry and confused as she was. Yet she knew this was a fight she would happily shy away from, but Draco on the other hand ... Lucius had destroyed his life and killed his mother. What would Draco do for revenge?

"Draco, I learnt something from that book. Remember the Horcruxes? Murder splits the soul. It pulls you apart, piece by piece." Lucius yanked on her hair sharply. A trickle of blood ran down Hermione's neck.

"She dares to talk of the Dark Lord's power. I would have killed her for that once."

"Leave her alone."

"Ah . . . Dark – dark magic does the same. It blackens the soul. If you use it and if-if you kill him, it won't be your soul you'll be splitting, it will be-"

"Yours." Realisation dawned on Draco's face as he finished her sentence.

"What is this? Souls? What are you drivelling on about, Mudblood." A bead of sweat rolled down Draco's forehead.

"He killed my mother, Hermione. He _deserves_ to die." His wand shook, an internal battle raging in his conscious. Hermione was scared that the need for revenge would win over the need to preserve her soul. What would happen to her if he split it? Would she never get it back again?

"Please, Draco, listen to me. Don't kill him."

"I can't – I can't just let him walk away . . . after everything." Lucius smiled and raised an eyebrow. He looked almost gleeful at Draco's struggle.

"You don't have the spine to kill me, Draco. I raised you. I made you who you are. Without me, you are nothing." A wave of fury rolled over Hermione that she knew was coming from Draco. A bad sign.

"This fight won't be the end, Draco. Not if you kill him. His death . . . revenge won't solve anything. It won't take away the pain. You have to do that for yourself. I learnt that myself once." Draco's wand lowered a little.

"Don't drop your wand!" Lucius yanked Hermione higher, until she was on the tips of her toes. Blood blossomed onto her shirt. "Don't you dare! No son of mine will give in like a coward."

"He wants you to fight him. He wants you to fear and hate him, because that's what makes you weaker than him. That's what controls you. If you kill him, you are only becoming more like him, and ultimately that's what he wants."

"Shut it, you little whore," the Lucius cried, throwing Hermione onto the ground. His foot found her hand and stamped down painfully. She had to bite her lip not to scream out.

"Hermione, I can't think – I-" Draco was shaking his head, losing focus. She could feel him beginning to waver, to pull away.

"Do it. You remember the spells I taught you. Show some guts for once in your miserable life. The pain of another tastes so sweet, my son. Take your revenge. I invite you."

"You're mad," Hermione screamed, but Lucius was not listening. He was intent on dredging up some dark part of Draco, the hidden sadist within him, the son he could have been proud of.

"I fucked your mother, before I killed her. You should have seen the way she begged and screeched," Lucius cackled. Draco's wand suddenly drew back. His eyes were hard as steel.

"Draco, no-" Hermione shouted.

"_Reducto!" _And then the ground flew up around them in an arc ten feet high, clumps of dirt pelting down upon them. For a second Hermione's vision blurred and the trees around them disappeared behind a cloud of dirt and dust. She felt someone pull her up, felt the ropes around her wrists and ankles loosen and fall to the ground.

"Run . . . Run!" She was dragged sideways through the trees, stumbling on roots and old, broken branches. The trees blocked out the moonlight and everything was dark around her until she saw a _lumos_ cast to her left. Draco's wane face glowed under the light.

"Did you kill him?" she asked. She was surprised by how out of breath she was. Every word came as a gasp for air. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making the whole world jump out at her.

"No. It was just a distraction."

"You could have stupefied him." Draco whipped round to look at her. His eyes were wide as they could go.

"I wasn't thinking. I needed to get away . . . I was scared of what I would do." He seemed to refocus then, going to grab her chin. The Bond forced her to shy away.

"Let me touch you," he growled, twisting her head to see her neck. "Are you ok? Are you hurt?" Hermione wiped away the blood that trickled down to her collarbone

"Just a scratch. I'm fine . . . Where is he?"

"I don't know. But the explosion will bring someone down here soon. We have to find them and tell them what's happening." A few seconds of silence ticked by.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He almost snarled the words. He was angry, she could tell. At himself? Or at her for ruining his chance of revenge?

"Thank you for choosing me over him." Draco shrugged and looked away. "How did you find me?" she continued. Although they spoke in whispers, it seemed their voices were impossibly loud, carrying through the trees.

"I don't know. I could just feel this . . . fear. I just _knew_ somehow. It led me here . . . Fuck, Hermione." He bowed his head, beginning to lose control. "This is all my fault. I just let him go."

"No, no," she said, holding his head to her chest. "It's ok. You could have killed him but you didn't. You're a better man than him. He's not going to hurt us anymore." She was terrified, but he was more so. She drained it from him with her touch, lending him strength, though her knees wanted to buckle at his misery. Tears ran down her cheeks, not a product of her own emotions, but of his. His hair brushed her neck and brought her back to earth.

"Come on, we have to get back to the castle," she whispered. They stumbled through the forest, not knowing whether they were finding their way out or getting further lost. The prospect of Lucius stalking them through the forest loomed over their shoulders, causing them to glance back every now and then and peer warily through the trunks. Eventually an orange tint blossomed in the sky as the sun began to rise and, through the great columns of the trees, Hermione spotted a flat expanse of grass.

"I think I see the castle," she said, rushing towards the tree line and the sight of the castle's towers beyond. She could see a group of people clustered on the lawn, making their way towards the Forbidden Forest. She opened her mouth to call out, but something caused her to turn. Draco was next to her, but he stood facing the forest, eyes wide, transfixed by fear. There was a man there among the trees, scratched and bruised but still grinning like a madman.

Hermione's eyes met Lucius'. He waved his newfound wand at her tauntingly.

"Enough," he screeched. "The Mudblood first, then you, my son." He raised his wand, smirking a cruel goodbye at Hermione. "_Avada Kadavra_!"

The green light arced towards her, crackling in the damp dawn air. Time seemed to slow then for Hermione, as she watched death racing towards her. _Was this it?_ She thought. _Was this the end_? A numb horror spread through her chest but she was given little time to respond. Suddenly, her vision was consumed by the image of Draco's drawn face as he stepped in front of her and wrapped his arms around her body. His eyes locked with hers and her mouth made an 'oh' of surprise. All too soon . . .

And then green light hit his back and blossomed into a halo around his body. He fell back into her and together they were knocked to the ground.

It seemed to Hermione, then, that something broke inside her and shattered into a thousand pieces, and all around her the world blurred at the edges. There was suddenly an inner silence, a deep echoing silence. She should have found peace in it, but instead she wanted to scream and beat the ground. Behind her there were shouts and a yellow spell flew over her shoulder. But Hermione noticed none of this. She cradled Draco's head in her lap. All blood had drained from his face. And she was trapped; trapped inside her own mind, with no one's emotions but her own.

* * *

**A.N. **_I do like to leave you all on a cliff-hanger, don't I? This chapter is a small New Years present for all my lovely readers. Perhaps it will go some way to apologising for how terrible my updates have been, although it reads slightly rushed. I only predict one more chapter for this story, which I promise I won't leave too long before updating. We are almost at the end!_

_I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read this story. It now has over two hundred reviews and fifty thousand views, which, to me, is phenomenal. I have never had such a positive reaction to one of my stories and it is so encouraging to hear the feedback people have for me. So thank you all so much and I wish you a fantastic 2013!_

_Anna_


	17. Chapter XVII

**Selling Souls**

**Chapter XVII**

In the stillness of her sleep there were no interruptions, no nightmares that did not belong to her, no corridors of darkness, no blonde woman screaming mercies. It was as if his dreams had never been hers in the first place. She felt a yawning emptiness that seemed to expand to every corner of her subconscious: black nothing. She felt drowned in it, disorientated. Time and space no longer had any meaning. Her own thoughts echoed on and on, reverberating back at her, spiralling without end. Had it always been like this, before? Had everything always felt so lonely? It seemed to her is if to wake would be to face the stark reality. There was something out there, in the waking world, that she would have to confront. She had forgotten what it was along the way, but it niggled at the back of her conscience. And she could not stay away forever, could not ignore the voices that called her name and the hands that stroked her forehead.

"Hermione . . ."

No. The light would burn her eyes and illuminate the bitter facts of waking. Here in the darkness, at least she could pretend it was all a lie.

"Hermione . . ."

But it was too late now. She was being pulled up, up into reality and with it memory came flooding back. A monster's snarl and the death mask of a fallen angel. Green light, everywhere green light. Blonde hair bright against brown. And grey eyes that spoke of the end, and of goodbyes, and of something stronger than either of them had ever been able to articulate but that both had felt deep down.

She awoke with a gasp and a bitter sob. The room _was_ bright and harshly white. She covered her eyes with her hands.

"Hermione, can you hear me?" A hand on her head to check for fever. "Hermione."

"What's wrong with her?" Another familiar voice, but it gave her no comfort. It wasn't the one she wanted to hear. She shook her head to try and blot out the sounds.

"It's the shock, I expect. She needs a calming draught." Someone tried to pull her hands from her face.

"No, no, no. Get off me," she cried. "Get off!" A blurred face came into focus. Madam Pomfrey. And behind her, Harry, Ron, and McGonagall with her hard eyes. Suddenly she felt ashamed of herself.

"What am I doing here?"

"They had to _stupefy_ you_," _Harry said. "You wouldn't stop screaming . . . You wouldn't let him go." The last sentence sent a stab of pain through Hermione's chest. Everything suddenly seemed very far away.

"Where is he?" They looked at one another uncomfortably. No one spoke. "Tell me where he is! He's here, isn't he?" She slipped out of the bed and no one tried to stop her. The tiles of the Hospital Ward were cold against her bare feet. The white beds stretched on and on, all empty but for one. She ran to it with tears in her eyes. That great hole of emptiness inside her seemed to grow even wider and she knew now what it had truly meant for Draco to stand up on top of that tower and look down on the castle lawns below. She understood now how desirable the sweet bliss of nothing was. _Anything_ was better than the pain of _knowing_.

He was as pale as the sheets he lay on. It dawned upon Hermione that he had always managed to hide behind a smirk, or a swagger, even when he was angry. She had seen him at his worst, his most vulnerable, but even then he had been hiding something of himself. Now there was nothing to hide. He looked small and young, crippled by the world. How unfair it all was. He had never asked for the life he had been given, the father he had. Was this all there was? A constant struggle and then the end? Falling towards the sweet grass hundreds of feet below seemed like a mercy to her now.

She moaned and buried her head on his chest, the way she'd done before. Only this time there was no bliss in it for either of them.

"Don't leave me, please," she begged, knowing it was too late.

"Hermione, there's something you should know." They had gathered around her, with a strange look upon their faces.

"Wait! Be quiet," she said, holding up a hand. "Can you hear that?" There was a gentle thump against her ear, faint and slow, but the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She gave a laugh. "His heart – He's alive! Help him, he's alive." She shook him. "Draco! Draco, wake up." She looked around at the others. "What are you waiting for?" Someone pulled her back by the shoulders.

"We know, but he's barely clinging on to life and no spell, no potion, will wake him."

"No. There must be _something_." McGonagall stepped forward.

"Poppy, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, may I have a moment alone with Miss Granger, please?" Her friends nodded but they left reluctantly and had to be ushered out by Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall took a seat on the other side of Draco's bed and together they sat opposite one another for several moments. Hermione stared at her brazenly. Eventually the headmistress sighed.

"There has only ever been on case of a person surviving the killing curse."

"Harry." McGonogall nodded.

"Indeed. And we both know how that worked out . . . And now another instance. And how am I to explain it? I can only guess it has something to do with this soul bond of yours."

"I – I think the curse broke it. Broke the bond, that is."

"How can you be sure?" Hermione knew deep down, but that was proof too. Reaching across she began to unbutton Draco's shirt. He was still dressed in the one he had worn into the forest. It was ripped and dirt smeared, with droplets of blood that could have only been hers. But when she pulled it open, the skin beneath was perfectly pale and unblemished. She stroked the skin above his heart, feeling that faint pulse once more.

"There was a mark here on his chest, a symbol of our contract. But it's gone now." Hermione felt like crying. Draco was becoming further and further away. Not even her soul linked them now. She thought she should feel free. But she didn't feel any more intact than before or after she had sold her soul.

"The magic bond of a soul between two people must be a powerful thing. Perhaps it acted in some way as a barrier between the curse and Draco's life and in the process was shattered," McGonogall said. What did that mean for her soul? Was it shattered too? She didn't think so, but how could she possibly tell? "This kind of magic is strange and complicated. I don't think we will ever truly understand how it works."

"What does it matter," Hermione said miserably. "The bond is broken now. You don't have to worry about the Ministry getting involved."

"Miss Granger, I will not pretend to understand your relationship with Mr Malfoy, but . . . his father will not see the outside of Azkaban again and Draco has no other close relatives to care for him. If he should not wake . . . At some point we may have to decide to . . . end it for him." Hermione shook her head adamantly.

"He'll wake up, I know he will."

"There are no signs that his brain still functions. We have carried out every test we can to no avail. I need you to be able to come to terms with his death if it should come to that."

"He _will_ wake up." McGonagall lowered her head and nodded.

"Very well. I will leave you for a few moments. Madam Pomfrey will return shortly to give you a check up." After the headmistress had left, Hermione crawled up onto the bed with Draco and rested her head on his chest. His breathing was so shallow she hardly felt his chest rise, and his heart beat seemed to flutter desperately, fragilely. But she could not believe that all that was left of him was the shell of a body.

"You will wake up, won't you?" she whispered. There was no answer in that cold, bright room.

* * *

She came most days and time slipped by like it had never mattered. At first the school had been abuzz with the news: an escaped Death Eater, an explosion in the Forbidden Forest, a comatose student! She had become numb to the stares and the whispers, numb to the pain. Later the excitement faded and people forgot about the boy who lay in that small part of the Hospital Wing, curtained off from the rest of world. Although she never could. She would sit and sometimes talk. At other times the silence would stretch on between them, reminding her of when they had played chess together and a single look, a single quirk of the eyebrow, could speak more words than they had needed. And rarely, in sweet moments of silence when she thought she could take it no more, she felt _him. _As if he had never left. Just a familiar brush of conscious, a wave of emotion. He was out there, waiting to come back, she _knew_ it.

Today she came early, before breakfast and classes. She pulled the curtains wide to let the dawning summer sun shine on his pale skin.

"Exams in a week's time," she muttered, brushing his hair from his forehead. "You're going to miss them. What good will that do you?" . . . Silence . . . "Don't be a fool, Draco," she huffed, before sitting down on the side of the bed. Sometimes she thought that maybe she was slipping away like him too. People's voices echoed at her from far away and her eyes often wandered off and glazed over. The school was a detached background through which she floated like the ghost of the Grey Lady.

"One week until the end of term. Not long for you to wake up. You better get started." She paused to look at him, breath bated, but he lay still and did not move an inch. She had the sudden temptation to strike him hard. It was not the first time.

"You wake up now!" she growled. "I said, wake up!" she shook his head from side to side, and opened his eye. "Look at me!" But his pupil was rolled back as far as it would go. There was nothing of him in there. They were back on the crenelations of the tower, only this time Draco had already jumped and she was screaming at thin air. "Don't do this to me, Draco," she huffed. The curtains suddenly drew back.

"Miss Granger." Madam Pomfrey looked at her disapprovingly, an aged man in proper wizard's attire at her shoulder. The witch turned to the stranger.

"Mr. Smethwyck, this is Miss Granger, a – ah – _friend_ of Mr. Malfoy's."

"Miss, Granger, a pleasure to meet you," the man said. His face did not break into a smile, but remained deadly serious. He extended a hand to shake hers but she just stared at it.

"Mr. Smethwyck works at St Mungo's, Hermione. He will be assessing Draco's state to see if he is deemed fit to be transported."

"So you can put him away and let him rot until you grow bored of looking after him?" Venom dripped from Hermione's tongue.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that is not what we intend. Every care will be taken with Mr. Malfoy." Hermione turned away.

"He's _going_ to wake up."

"We all hope that he does so, but if he should not, the school cannot care for him for much longer. Mr. Malfoy belongs in the proper care of St. Mungo's."

"It is for the best, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey said, patting her hand in a show of sympathy. The display did little but send a wave of shame through Hermione's stomach. She could not help but think the staff thought all this was her fault. But for McGonagall, they did not truly understand what had occurred only that Hermione's continued implication could not be ignored. Perhaps it was all her fault. If she had never signed that slip of paper in the first place . . .

* * *

_Time held no meaning in the place where fractured souls drifted. Each thought could be condensed down to seconds or elongated into years. He had no way of telling. And they weren't thoughts, not really. More like shattered memories and feelings, things that had been in his head once, and were now only dislocated pieces of what had once been_ him. _It felt like a gentle decay into death, not the sudden ending he had once expected._

_There was no sight, or smell, or sound in the void within which he existed. But there were his memories, particularly one, visiting him again and again. The green glow of light. The sudden wrenching feeling of being ripped apart, flung into pieces across the world. Something wholly warm and familiar peeling itself away from him and drifting off. Her name, like sweet gold on his tongue, but she was no longer there. He was just fragments of a soul, torn apart by dark magic and soul magic alike, and there was no one left to glue him back together again._

_There were others here, coming and going. Some fast, as if they knew exactly where they needed to go, other slow, hesitantly, clinging onto life. They passed him like the faint brush of someone's skin against his own; the feeling that sent shivers down a person's spine. And sometimes the sensation would come with a small burst of another's memories, fleeting and sweet and bitter all at once. A whole life reduced down to memories drifting in nothing. For what really was a person, but the recollections of a life lived?_

_He would have screamed if he had a voice, sobbed and forgotten what little he still knew of himself. He would have disintegrated even further, or followed those souls that drifted past him, wherever they went, but he did not,_ could _not. Because, every once in a while, something gentle and familiar and soft was there, embracing him. Something that had been there, cushioning him, before, something he had barely noticed. It had been taken from him, but for some sweet moments he felt it, recognised it. And he would remember, remember things he thought had left him, things that reminded him he had once_ existed. _Skin, voices, passion, sweetness and hate, anger and love, all the elements of humanity like electricity running straight through him. Sometimes he thought he could hear that familiar voice, begging, bargaining, come back, come back. Memories? Or something else? Something from beyond the void?_

_And then he knew he could not let go, could not give up. Because he wanted_ more. _There had been so little, and he was greedy, greedy for life and what existed within it: _Her_._

_So he would keep on drifting. Drifting until someone glued him back together again . . ._

* * *

Hermione woke with a gasp, clutching her chest. She scrabbled at the sheets to feel the silk beneath her hands, to _feel_! It had been so _real_. Her soul had been detached from her for so long, perhaps it was not fully anchored once more, perhaps now it sought its previous owner. Could it be? . . . A vast emptiness and the disintegration of a consciousness. She couldn't let that happen to him, she _couldn't._

* * *

"Hermione, you can't do this." The ward was dark, and would have been silent if Ron had kept his mouth shut like she had asked him to. Madame Pomfrey lay in bed, sleeping soundly, or so Hermione hoped.

"Please, Ron, be quiet."

"He's right. You shouldn't be doing this. It may not even work." They'd both followed her. She hadn't wanted them to; it was something she felt she could do alone. But they'd caught her writing the note and no amount of arguing could dissuade them from following her. She padded across the tiled floor, cursing under her breath as she heard them awkwardly follow. The summer moonlight was so bright it turned Draco's hair to silver. She stroked it, like she always did, as she came to stand by his bedside.

"Harry, do you have the quill and ink pot?" she asked. His look was one of pure reluctance, but he fished within his pocket and produced the items nevertheless.

"Hermione, _please_, just think about this."

"I have!" she snapped. "The man is coming to take Draco to St Mungo's _tomorrow._ And then I can do nothing. I won't have them cart him away and treat him like he's dead already. He's still alive somewhere, I just have to reach him."

"How could you possibly know that?" Hermione shrugged.

"I just _do_. This is the only way. His soul is out there but it's broken. I have to piece it back together again. I _have_ to." She turned to her friends and hoped in the dark they could read the sincerity on her face. "Just trust me, please." Harry handed her the quill.

"And if it doesn't work? Have you thought about that?" Ron asked. Hermione raised her wand and whispered a spell. Before her a knife appeared, shining cruelly in the moonlight. She held back tears as she laid the knife on the bed between her and Draco. She tried not to notice the horror on her friends' faces.

"If it doesn't work, then I'll make sure he can move on myself. And if . . . if somehow I become like him, I want you to do the same for me too. No magic. It's too unpredictable when soul magic is involved. The knife . . ." Harry shook her head.

"You're crazy," Ron hissed.

"Please . . . please, Ron. If you ever loved me, you would do this for me. You can't . . . you can't possibly know what it is like _beyond_. Unable to move forward, unable to move back, just . . . _being_. Don't let me suffer that too."

"There must be another way."

"There is _no_ other way." Before they could argue further, Hermione had produced the piece of parchment upon which she had been writing earlier. It looked eerily familiar. Upon it her neat handwriting looped a phrase she hoped would make all right once more:

_I, Draco Malfoy, do hereby entrust full ownership of my complete soul to one Hermione Granger for safekeeping, until the time she sees fit to relinquish said duties, in return for the right to existence within my own body. The ownership of my soul shall not pass unto Hermione Granger any effect, benefit or authority that contradicts mine own will._

_Signed ..._

It was a complicated contract, one that could quite easily fail on any account. She had wanted to bypass any of the effects or benefits that owning a person's soul had, but could that really be possible? She had been reading through the book McGonagall had given her, and though there was very little information, there was enough to give her hope that it could be done. _By possessing your soul I will bind you back together again, Draco, I promise_, she thought.

Teasing open his stiff fingers, she placed a quill there and guided his hand across the parchment to create a shaky signature in the form of his name. Once the quill was laid down and she had gripped the piece of parchment in her shaking hands, she finally took a breath.

Seconds ticked by and nothing felt different. Harry and Ron shuffled awkwardly. Draco's body still lay still. Not a muscle twitched.

* * *

_Togetherness, clarity. He was going back. Going home. Going towards her. Pieces of himself collecting, pooling together, more and more of who he was merging into one. He was coming._

* * *

Hermione shook him by the shoulders. A sinking feeling had filled her chest, where once there had been a glimmer of hope.

"Wake up!" she said. "Wake up!" He did not move. She climbed up onto the bed and continued to shake him as the world turned black at the edges. "WAKE UP!" she was screaming it at him, again and again, not caring that she could wake the whole castle with her cries. "I fixed you! Wake up!" Harry and Ron were trying to pull her away but, without realising it, she had sent them flying with a spell. The knife was in her hands.

"I'll do it, Draco. I'll do it." It hovered above his chest. Her shoulders drooped. "Please, please, don't make me do it. I don't think I can. Please. I love you." She was crying and her tears spattered against his chest but he did not move.

She could climb down from the bed right now and walk away. She could never look back and he would be gone by the morning to St Mungo's. She could tear up the piece of paper and curse it and grow old knowing there was nothing she could have done. But he would still _be_ there, somewhere, unable to move on while his heart still beat, waiting for _her_.

She raised the knife and her arm swung down in a short arc.

* * *

_He felt like he was flying, rushing, everything whipping around him in a frenzy. Light and taste and sound were there, just within reach, if only he could move a little faster. And _she_ was there, he knew. He was surrounded by the feeling of her, the sweet comfort. She was calling for him. Just a little faster, a little further . . ._

* * *

The knife jumped lustily. And then a hand grabbed Hermione, stopping the movement of her arm. The loud gasp of air saturating lungs filled the sudden silence. The knife clattered to the floor. Ron swore from across the room. Trembling arms clutched onto her skin. She sobbed and the tears were brushed away.

"Hermione."

* * *

On the platform in Hogsmeade the train spat steam and students milled in groups or climbed onto carriages. Draco watched them, basking in the heat of the summer sun. It had never felt so warm upon his skin before. There was no rush to board the train, no rush at all.

Hermione stood at his side, supporting him with an arm looped into his. He was still a little shaky on his feet. The months he had spent in a bed without movement had taken a toll on his muscles. He was weaker than before, but nothing that he could not fix. Hermione looked at him with concern, her chestnut hair flaring copper in the light and he smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked. He didn't answer, but instead kissed her. He'd never needed a soul bond. Not really. The touch of her lips was nirvana enough for him. Eventually he pulled away.

"I'm smiling because we don't know what comes next."

"Exactly. Who knows what effects this new soul bond will have on us? We are back to square one all over again," Hermione sighed. He brushed her forehead, trying to erase the crease that formed there when she frowned.

"Yes, back to square one." And he grinned and threw his arm around her. _A beginning, one great open sky of beginning._

**END?**

* * *

**A.N. **_This is it! The end! This story has taken me many years and a lot of hassle to write, but I hope it has been worth it. It started as a short light fic and turned into something else, something deeply emotional and at times incredibly hard to write. Something, I think, that made me confront a part of myself. _

_So I apologise that it has taken such an incredibly long time to come to this ending. Life has a habit of throwing up obstacles to the things you love to do, don't you think? And the support I have had for this fic has always been phenomenal. I am sure I would have never reached the end without all you lovely readers, who showed me how much this story meant to you. I honestly wish I could express how much that meant to me. So thank you, thank you, thank you! And I hope the ending was satisfactory enough for you all. _

_With Love at the end (or the beginning?),  
Anna._


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